


Lunar Woke

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mercy Thompson Series, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, He just wants to be left alone but his hot werewolf neighbor won't let him, Hot Neighbor Lance, If you've read Moon Called then this is just Klance Moon Called, Keith is done with these werewolves, M/M, Mercy Thompson Series Adaption, Shapeshifter Keith (Voltron), Single Father Lance, Sorry to rewrite your shit but worse Patricia Briggs I owe you my life and this entire fic, Trans Hunk, Werewolf Hunk (Voltron), Werewolf Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Upon first glance, it was just a poor 15 year old kid who walked in, but when Keith’s lesser used senses jumped in, it was clear that this kid smelled like anxiety, and now with Keith’s eyes on him, fear, but underneath was the distinctive musk of werewolf.Keith’s first thought was fuck, he knocked my cactus off the fucking table.





	1. Keith Makes A New Friend

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! This fic is gonna be a rewrite basically of Patricia Briggs' Moon Called, which is an awesome book, but this version is Klance and will have a few new twists here and there. So full credit to Patricia Briggs and definitely give all of her Mercedes Thompson novels a shot bc if you love werewolves, these are great and really fun with lots of other supernatural characters in them too! Plus Mercy is such an awesome main character!
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who helped me proofread this first chapter, especially the awesome @Jilliancares, and for @MelancholyMango to support me in my werewolf fic writing endeavors!!

Keith only kept two plants in his car garage; a claret cup cactus cutting from the one that grew in his front yard, and an aloe plant that was suffering from overwatering, probably.  He had never been very good at keeping things alive; half the reason why he went for an ASE certification instead of something more botanical. Still, he fucking loved his plants.

And it was when he was underneath a fairly worn 2010 Ford Focus that he heard the distinctive sound of shattering porcelain and a loud, “Oh fuck!”

Keith was out from underneath that car faster than he probably should’ve, all things considered, and narrowing his eyes at his intruder.

Upon first glance, just a poor 15 year old kid, definitely homeless and in desperate need of a shower, wearing far too many layers for this time of year in the desert southwest.  It was early June, for fuck’s sake, who wore long sleeves? It was probably 100 degrees out, and Keith only had a fan in here and a swamp cooler, so it was almost stuffier inside than out.

Upon second, when Keith’s lesser used senses jumped in, it was clear that this kid smelled like anxiety, and now with Keith’s eyes on him, fear, but underneath the stench of unwashed teenaged boy and the car grease all around them, was the distinctive musk of werewolf.

Keith’s first thoughts were,  _ fuck, he knocked my cactus off the fucking table.   _ Then,  _ what’s a werewolf doing here? _

Now that he knew the stranger was a werewolf, it was hard to ignore the instincts that told him that this homeless white boy, barely old enough to drive, was a threat, and he needed to drive him out of his territory.  Luckily Keith wasn't a werewolf–so he could ignore those instincts.

See, Keith was a walker.  The term was incorrectly derived from ‘skin-walker,’ which, well, had some unfortunate connotations.  Keith avoided using that term because he knew it was inaccurate–it meant something of the Navajo boogieman–and also because the true understanding of those creatures belonged to another culture that Keith felt he couldn’t claim.  He had no clue whether or not his mother was Navajo, since she’d birthed him and left him on his human, Korean father’s doorstep.

But the ability to change into a coyote at will, without any pain or obligation to the moon?  That, she had given him.

If this boy, this werewolf, knew he was another predator, he likely would’ve never approached him at all.  But Keith bet that he didn’t know; there weren’t many walkers in the world, and this kid came off as a new werewolf, just turned.

“I was wondering if you had some work for me?” The kid asked, shuffling to hide the broken cactus pot from view.  “Not a job, like, just a few hours–although I could use a job too. I, I don’t have a social security card but, uh–”

“Stop before you hurt yourself,” Keith said, before his brain caught up with his mouth.  Then he just felt dumb, because here he went, breaking all of his usual rules.

Rule one of werewolves; don’t give them orders.  Rule two; don’t make direct eye-contact. He’d just broken both, despite the fact that Keith should’ve known enough werewolves throughout his life to remember that.

“I’m sorry, sir, really sorry, about the cactus, I mean,” The werewolf said, and apparently he was accepting enough of Keith’s callous way with words, and didn’t want to challenge him.   _ Good.  _  Keith didn’t want a fight; he might’ve been fairly strong with all the running and mechanic-related lifting he did, but in the end, it was nothing compared to what a werewolf could do.

A werewolf could rip someone’s arm right off with their bare hands in a moment of panic.

Keith took a deep breath, relaxing himself and fighting off those protective instincts, “It’s fine.  I’ll clean it up. What were you saying before? You want a job?”

“Something like that,” the werewolf squeaked, shifting aside so Keith could examine the remains of his plant.  Surprisingly, the little thing survived the fall, and just would need to be repotted. “Just a few hours.”

Keith nodded, grabbing his heavy duty leather gloves, “If you want to work here, your first task is grabbing me that bucket over there.”

The werewolf seemed to catch on quick, and the bucket that Keith usually used for his spare zipties was emptied out and refilled with the spilled dirt so that Keith could grab his cactus and replant it.  As Keith grabbed his broom, he nodded to the kid, and said, “Thanks. If you want to, there’s a pair of my old overalls in the back, a thing of hot pockets, and a shower. If you eat and get clean, I can have you up front for the day.”

_ Eat, emphasis on eat, _ Keith thought, hoping the werewolf would give in since he’d spent more time wording the command to sound more voluntary.  Keith absolutely wanted nothing to do with a hungry werewolf in his place of work all day; they got impossible to deal with and a hundred times more likely to boss him around, and those were only the safe downsides with a more experienced wolf.  A newbie like this? He’d buy the kid a fucking pizza all for himself if he had to.

“Thanks, sir, thank you so much!” The kid bowed a little bit, what the fuck, and started to scamper off.

Keith called after him, “Wait!  What’s your name?”

The kid stopped short, the clear scent of nervousness on the air, as he hesitated.

“I’m Keith.  I just need something to call you,” Keith added, putting on a little extra pressure.  He hated calling him ‘the kid’ or ‘the werewolf’ in his brain, and he didn’t want to assign him a nickname.  Keith had never been that kind of creative.

“Uh, call me Peter,” he said, shrugging with a little smile, and even if Keith couldn’t smell the blatant lie, he’d have been able to tell just from how unconvincing this white boy was.

And that was the start of Keith’s day. He kept an eye on the kid, even as he had an angry soccer mom and her three kids storm through, pissed about the squeaking brakes on her Mazda 7.  He couldn’t keep ‘Peter’ on with a permanent job, not concerned like he was about whether or not the kid would start wolfing out on Martha Humboldt and her demon spawn, but what else was he supposed to do?

Keith had always had a very  _ take care of yourself first _ mentality, but he wasn’t going to turn a homeless werewolf back out onto the streets, not when he could hurt somebody or get hurt himself.  It was less than two weeks until the full moon, and Keith knew from experience that werewolves could wolf out when they were scared or angry, no matter the time of the month, and new ones especially.

Yet when it came time to head on home, Keith hesitantly had to let Peter go.  He didn’t have a choice; he didn’t know of a better place for him. If the garage had air conditioning and Keith had a little more trust, he would've told Peter he could sleep in there, maybe bring him back some blankets, but as it was, it was just too hot out for that to be comfortable, and sleeping under the stars was definitely easier than confined in a hot garage.  

That didn’t stop his head from fretting about it, on his entire drive back home.  

He would've brought the kid back home with him but he didn’t have much space, and well, there were other reasons.  Keith’s house was a tiny shack if he was being nice, but the fact he even had a home still stood out to him as important. Coyotes were adaptable, and Keith had been, all his life from foster home to foster home, but to have a significant territory to call his own?  It was more important than he could say.

Even if it came with downsides, like the massive mansion sitting next door.  Done up in a weird mix of a colonial Spanish style and the more recent popular adobe trend, it towered over Keith’s shack in the worst way.  As if his house didn’t look about to fall apart without the competition already.

And the person who lived inside was… well, Keith would say even worse.  Lance McClain was the alpha werewolf of the entire Mesilla Valley, and definitely one of those ‘other reasons’ why he couldn’t just bring Peter back to his place.  Even with the easy-going sort of attitude Keith had observed from Lance when he was interacting with well, anyone other than Keith, werewolves had a process when it came to having a foreign wolf enter their territory, and Keith got the feeling that Peter absolutely had done nothing to petition the pack.

He wasn’t even sure if Peter even knew anything about werewolf politics.  Keith wasn't sure that, even after having lived with werewolves himself for a good portion of his life, that he knew enough about werewolf politics to really navigate the system.

With that in mind, Keith pulled into his driveway and turned off his car.  

He stretched, slamming the door behind him.  He could smell a faint whiff of his neighbor, lingering in the stagnant air with the scent of barbequed pork.  A family meeting, perhaps. Lance was big on family; his pack might've been big but his family was probably bigger.

Lance’s siblings were all in their late 60s or early 70s, and Lance still looked like he was 27.  Werewolves don't age after their change–though they also don't tend to live long after it, either.  Lance couldn't tell his whole family that of course, so he must've played the part of eclectic cousin or grandson and brought together his family under that guise with the help of his siblings.

Keith got it.  He understood why family was hard when you were a preternatural creature.  His own biological father had left him to grow up with a foster family instead of keeping the strange baby who turned into a coyote in his crib.  Their relationship was still strained now, despite the fact Keith planned to call him on father’s day and catch up.

The fact that his neighbor still put in the effort, even after so many years, it just reminded Keith that Lance had a good heart and the right intentions, despite the short temper.

Maybe if Keith could introduce Peter with some kind of forewarning, Lance would help him.  After all, it was the alpha’s job to take care of everyone in his pack. Dominant werewolves were like that; insufferably overbearing, but they took care of their own.  It was an instinct of theirs they couldn't ignore.

Mind made up, Keith shrugged off his dirty clothes, nuked a frozen burrito in the microwave, and once he was finished, snoozed on the couch as the TV droned on about some bullshit local news.  All of this could wait for tomorrow.

* * *

On Saturday, Peter didn't come back.

Keith had sort of hoped to grab him again, but so such luck.  If he at least knew more of his story, or more of what was going on, he would feel better about pushing Peter in Lance’s direction.

But without the kid, and without any other work readily available (he was avoiding his paperwork like the plague) Keith had no choice but to focus on his pet project for Lotor.  The man wasn't his favorite customer, and Keith hated working on his bourgie cars; what the fuck did Keith know about sports card, honestly; but it was part of his deal with the vampires.

See, vampires are the mafia.  Or one form of it, at least. They could tell when new preternatural critters moved into their territory, and they made all of them pay some kind of tribute.  If they wanted to stay in the area, it was a recurring tribute, for protection–from the vampires themselves, of course. Keith paid his off by fixing their cars, and Lotor was his primary form of contact with them.

Lotor wasn't bad for a vampire, honestly, he just owned a lot of bourgeois cars.  He collected them like Keith collected oversized sweaters or broken cars he stuffed in his backyard for spare parts.  Lotor’s car collection probably had a net worth of more than Keith had ever owned during his entire existence.

And yet Lotor insisted Keith be the one to take a look at his car when his joyride had busted his transmission or his brakes or whatever.  Keith was overjoyed to have a heart attack every time a Maserati graced his garage–at least the vampires paid for the parts.

Lotor's pet project was having Keith restore an old VW van painted to look like the Mystery Machine.  He seemed to think it was ironic, and so it sat around on rusted axles in Keith’s garage as he slowly but surely put it back together, refreshed paint and all.

Working by himself like this, it only gave him extra time to think.

Where was Peter?  It was hot out, the kind of hot that could kill someone if they weren't prepared, and one kid in dirty clothes on the streets…?  The thought frightened him. Maybe he should've offered him his garage.

But werewolves, they’re prideful beasts.  The wolf in Peter wouldn't easily let him accept anything if he thought it was pity, and Keith didn't know how to convince a stubborn wolf to accept help, other than just sticking his nose in and risking it being bitten off.

Maybe Keith should just go to Lance’s, risk it, and just let the alpha take care of his own damn wolves.

But Keith had no desire to get innocent blood on his hands and if this wasn't taken care of correctly, then that's exactly what was coming.  If Lance thought Peter was a threat, then Peter would die. If one of Lance’s wolves came across Peter before he was taken in by the pack, then Peter would die.  Werewolves were controlled by their instincts; one of the reasons why werewolves only lived for an average of 10 years after the change. They needed an alpha to reign themselves in; a dominant with naturally good control that can enforce that control onto others.  Wolves who can't control themselves are killed.

It's brutal, but that was politics.

Keith dropped his head back against the floor, tired and frustrated.  If he could just vouch for Peter’s control and he knew why the newbie wolf was out on his own, wandering the streets, then he could ease Lance into it instead of having the alpha immediately jump to the conclusion there was a rabid lone wolf on the loose with no control of himself.

He just didn't know how, unless Peter came back and opened up to him.

Maybe the boy would be back on Monday.

* * *

Peter was back on Monday.

Keith handed him a bag full of burritos from Santa Fe Grill and gave him the same drill as on Friday; eat, shower, then he could work.

Which went fine, until Peter asked if he could make a phone call.

“It’s long distance, is that okay?” He asked, and Keith hated that his stupid heart melted at those big puppy eyes.

“As long as it's not out of country, should be fine,” Keith said, although he got the feeling he should've asked more questions.  But the more questions he asked, the more Peter would want to lie to him, and Keith could smell a lie. He didn't want to push him away like that.  If Peter didn't trust him, then he wouldn’t come back to the garage, and there would be an uncontrolled werewolf running around on the full moon in a week and a half.

Peter left the room to make his call, but that was the thing about supernaturally good hearing–you always were an eavesdropper whether you wanted to be or not.  Keith could hear Peter as he hesitantly said, “Hello?”

Someone must've responded because Peter was silent for a bit, before saying, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry.  I can't come home, it's not safe.”

Another pause.  “Until I find Gwen’s killer, it's not safe.”

_Fuck_ , Keith thought, his heart pounding.

“Listen, I gotta go.  Stay safe, I love you.”

_Fuck!_  Keith thought again, his hands trembling around his wrench.

He steeled himself, calming his breathing before Peter picked up on his fear.  Werewolves thought that fear meant prey, and if they smelled it, they gave chase.  Keith couldn’t allow himself the luxury right now, not with such a new wolf in the same building.

Peter’s phone call sounded like an all too common sad story; someone gets turned but doesn't know of it, they go out on the full moon on a date with their girlfriend, they kill and eat her and don't remember anything when they wake up.

Keith knew Lance could help Peter.  He just needed to convince Peter to work with him, to be honest.

As Peter let himself back into the back of the garage, Keith took a deep breath and said, “You know, I might know a guy who could help you out more.”

“I don't need help,” Peter said, crossing his arms defensively.  He didn't know that Keith had overheard him, or else he might've had a more aggressive reaction.  Instead, he just came.off as a little frustrated Keith was poking his nose into his business.

Good, Keith wanted it to stay like that for now.

Keith raised up a hand in surrender, shrugging, “I didn't say you needed any.  I'm offering it if you want it. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Yes, I do,” Peter said, and it was so reassured that it didn't smell like a lie.

Keith gave up for the moment on questioning.  Peter wasn't likely to tell him much anyway and poking his nose in was clearly doing more harm than good.  It was just frustrating, being unable to do anything when all Keith wanted was to fix everything.

Instead they worked in silence, and when it came time for Keith to head home for the day, he reluctantly watched Peter wave and head off, like he wasn't homeless.

Keith had known him for two days but his instincts said that Peter was pack.

His instincts were bullshit.  Peter might be a kid but he’d probably killed someone, and if he didn't accept help he’d probably kill again.  A new wolf couldn't control himself and was likely to not only to kill innocent people out of fear or rage or whatever his wolf inside felt, but also out the existence of werewolves to the public, what with the new forensic advances in science.  And if Peter killed someone, Lance would put him down.

A wolf with a taste for human blood is impossible to keep alive without sacrificing your morals, and there was no way that Lance, with his big human family, would ever forgive a killer.

Keith drove home in a huff, angry at himself and even angrier at Peter.

* * *

Keith was rage-baking.  He wasn't any good at it, not like Hunk, who was one of Keith’s closest friends and also a wolf of Lance’s pack–now, at least, but he hadn't always been.

Keith was a lone coyote because he'd never met anyone else who could shift like he could.  He'd never fit in anywhere. Hunk and he had clicked because of that–Hunk had been a lone wolf for a long time, just because he was trans.

Werewolves are still a little medieval when it came to women.  A female werewolf always took her status from her husband, even if she was more dominant than he.  If they were unmated, they almost always were on the bottom rung of the pack.

And transgender individuals weren't very well known, much less understood, in the old days.  Inside of a pack, Hunk would have normally been given the status of a female wolf, despite being male, just because of those antiquated beliefs.  It didn't matter that Hunk was one of the toughest, most dominant wolves Keith had ever met.

So Hunk had been a lone wolf for a long time, scared of joining a pack when it meant he would be misgendered, treated as weak and submissive.   And wolves have short tempers; that kind of treatment would rile up a whole pack when they can smell anger.

Keith had met Hunk working at the PikQuik near his garage, cooking up burritos in Santa Fe Grill.  They had both known each other wasn't human right away, but a little neck bearing and submission from Keith had Hunk relaxing and telling him his story, and from there they’d gotten to be good friends.

When Hunk was over at Keith’s for some Netflix and grill about two years ago, as he jokingly called their Wednesday night ritual, he’d heard a wolf howl, and a look of such forlorn longing and misery passed over his face that Keith had had to meddle.

Two days later, Lance was meeting Hunk, and the big wolf got to join a pack for the first time in his life without being misgendered.  His size and dominance placed him as Lance’s third, and Hunk had loved and followed Lance ever since, without question.

Wolves need a pack.

It was part of the reason this Peter mess was bugging Keith so badly.  But unlike Hunk, who’d come clean about being trans, Peter had darker, more dangerous secrets, and Keith couldn't brazenly meddle this time.

He might've gotten lucky with Hunk, but Keith couldn't shove every lost and lonely werewolf at Lance and hope the alpha would solve his problems.  Plus he hated thinking he had to rely on Lance so often–Keith wasn't a werewolf, and he was damn glad not to be one.

Pacing didn't ease his tension, and he could hear the sound of loud, angry teenage music blasting from Lance’s.  His daughter must be in town for Father’s day–she was off on summer vacation for sure, but her strict mother/Lance's demonic ex-wife tended to keep her home in Kansas City when she could.

His cookies beeped at him and he pulled them out, still kind of doughy and definitely a butchering of Hunk’s recipe, but edible.  But three cookies devoured later, and Keith was still growling with nervous energy. Coyotes would chew their own legs off to escape bad situations, and Keith had to admit he tended to do stupid things if left alone, even if the cage was just his own mind.

Maybe he needed to shift.  It had been a long time since he’d gone running in his coyote form, and staying human that long drove him nuts.  He’d just take his jacket and his slightly less likely to crumble apart four-wheeler out off-roading near the mountains, park it somewhere, and go for a nice run.

Except his four-wheeler was at his garage, and he had his keys for it locked up there too.

Keith sighed, throwing on his jacket and preparing to make an unexpected trip to the garage.  He had to get this out somehow, and stress baking wasn't working anymore.

 

* * *

The drive felt longer than it was, and even as Keith stepped out to go for his four-wheeler, he scrunched up his nose and tried to shake the exhaustion from his frame.  He unlocked the front door, grimaced at the trapped heat inside, and then headed towards the back where he kept his safe.

The combination lock on his safe was the same day he got his first tattoo.  His roommate in college had been an art student; she’d wanted a guinea pig and Keith had been thinking of getting a tattoo for a long time, so it was an easy exchange.  He’d told her he wanted a coyote print, right below his belly button.

Coyote, he’d said, because he’d spent a lot of time in his childhood trying to be what others wanted instead.  He’d grown up wanting to be a wolf, wanting to be human, wanting to be anything but the isolated loner he ended up being.  So he’d told his roommate that he wanted a coyote paw print, and now he had it with him, forever, as a reminder to stay true to himself.

It was such an obscure date that it felt pretty secure, for locking things up like this.

Safe open, keys out, Keith twirled the lanyard in his hands and headed to the back, where he kept the cars he had finished and were just waiting for their owners, and where his four-wheeler sat.

It was a fenced in lot, pretty safe, and Keith rarely worried about someone breaking in when he could deadbolt the gate.

Which was why when he suddenly felt the prickling sensation of not being alone, he felt his entire body stiffen in an instinctual fight or flight response.  He could hear voices, clearer now that he’d stepped outside, and deep, male, gruff.

Just from the scent they gave off, Keith recognized Peter as one of them, and the others as one werewolf, one human.

His gut told him not to move closer, not to let anyone know he was here.  He quickly stepped back inside, heart pounding, and he shut the door so quietly even he could barely hear it.

Okay, so Peter was here.  Maybe he’d been sleeping in the back lot; it would explain where he went at night.  And the others? Keith should’ve recognized the scent if it was someone from Lance’s pack; plus Lance had never been one to ask a human for help.  Something not right was going on, and Keith had to figure out what it was.

That in mind, Keith did what he’d wanted to do all evening.  He tossed his shirt out, shucked off his jeans and boxers, and stepped out of his human form into his coyote one.  His shift wasn’t like a werewolf’s; it was pure magic, one form then the next. Keith shook out his new, shorter limbs, padding towards his front door, silently thanking his foresight that it was a push, not a pull.

He could leap up, climb to the roof, and if those men tried anything, Keith could probably get the jump on them.  As a coyote, he stood no chance of beating a werewolf, but with a little speed, he could draw them off and outrun them, allowing Peter time to get to safety.  With that in mind, Keith hopped up on his dumpster, then to the high fence, and the roof.

Even though the distance hadn't changed, with his improved hearing in this form, Keith could now make out words–one of the men saying, “Did you hear something?”

“Probably just a coyote,” the human said, must be the human.  A wolf would smell him, would've heard him better. Plus he smelled human, and like silver.  Keith, with his better vantage point, finally could see both their faces.

The other wolf smelled new too, what the fuck?  Werewolves had to be brutalized for the change to even take place; surviving it wasn’t an easy task.  This many new wolves meant something weird was going on and Keith couldn’t help the bad feeling that brought to his gut.

“I’m not going with you,” Peter said, and damn, the kid had balls.  He was staring the werewolf down, eyes sharp, and even to a human, that looked like a challenge.  It was the first time Keith thought that Peter might have some dominance to him.

“Shit luck, kid.  Moon’s coming, and you don’t want to hurt anyone, right?” The werewolf said.

Keith was about 99% sure this wolf wasn’t one of Lance’s.  Keith  _ knew  _ Lance’s wolves.  Lance let Keith know, albeit in a roundabout sort of manner sometimes, when he got someone new.  And he certainly never sent a new wolf on an errand like this.

“And it's summer, how are you going to survive the heat?  You can't live in a blacktop car lot once it hits the 100’s.”

“I think Keith will let me stay inside until I’ve got something figured out,” Peter said, looking more like a vulnerable teenager than ever.

“He’s one of us.  He told us where you are,” the wolf said, and Keith had to hold back a snarl.  He hated liars, and more than that he hated people who told lies about him.

“You’re not putting me back in those fucking cages,” Peter growled, his eyes glowing slightly.

“We can turn you back,” the human said, which was about when Keith finally decided that these strangers were free game.  Turning someone back human was impossible. Wolves even saw their new situation as an improvement, or at least Lance tried to convince his wolves of such.  This was bullshit, and anyone keeping new wolves in cages, promising to turn them back human? Definitely bad people.

“Is that what happened to the others when they disappeared?” Peter snarled.  Keith could see the effects of the moon in his posture, as the orb came out from behind the clouds.

It wasn’t that close to the full moon, but close enough that both of the werewolves looked out of it.  Peter was just cockier than he otherwise might’ve been, but the other one… he was moonstruck.

“I’m hungry…” murmured the wolf, his eyes glassy.

“If you won't come back with us peacefully, then we’re gonna do this the hard way,” the human snapped, going for their waist.

A tranq gun, Keith thought, but it was enough to raise his hackles.  

“The moon is beautiful tonight.  She’s telling me… she’s reminding me of the hunt.  How good it feels to… to chase,” The wolf mumbled in his haze, the change coming upon him as his eyes narrowed on Peter, “...to kill.”

Enough waiting.  This was about to get ugly.  

Keith didn't give himself time to stop and think, he just took a running jump and launched himself towards the wolf, going for the bigger target.

It worked, Keith’s tiny body slamming into the wolf and Keith’s jaws sinking into the soft flesh of the man’s throat as he ripped it out.  Deep enough to kill a man, but wouldn't do much other than slow down a wolf. Still the sudden blood and the raw scream as the werewolf shook off his attacker had the human scrambling, his tranq dart suddenly aimed for Keith instead.

“What the fuck,” the human shook, as Keith wriggled out of the werewolf's grasp and shot off towards the edge of the lot.  The throat wound should buy him some time, while the werewolf bound it.

Except he didn't.  Without bothering to wrap the open wound on his throat, the wolf gave chase.  Like big predator with prey on the brain, the werewolf launched himself after at top speed, his body stretching and bones snapping as he started to shift.  He didn't stop moving, blood splattering from his throat as he gave chase.

Keith barely wriggled up over the fence to the other side before the wolf just tore the chain links to pieces.  It slowed down the wolf–who shouldn't've been nearly as fast as he was. Keith knew he was faster than a werewolf when he’d shifted.  He knew.

He didn't want to go to any major streets, couldn't risk having anyone see the half-shifted blood-coated gorey beast charging after him, and so Keith ran a loop around the building, hopping back over the fence since it sort of slowed down the wolf the first time.

Darting between cars, Keith only stopped when he couldn't hear footsteps behind him anymore.  Daring to look behind him, he saw the werewolf, lying face down in the gravel. Blood pooled out, staining the ground, and Keith couldn't hear the man’s heartbeat anymore.

Tentatively, against his every instinct that said to keep running, Keith went over to check on him, nosing the body.

Dead.

The wolf had bled out.  It was a dumb, rookie move.  The wolf had been too moon-struck to think, and he had never tried to slow down and let his wound heal.  It shouldn't have killed him.

Keith shouldn't have killed him.

Keith had never killed anyone before.

Suddenly the lingering taste of the man’s blood in Keith's teeth was intolerable, and he retched, pawing at his snout as if that would help.  Spitting as best he could, he abruptly remembered.

Peter.

He’d left Peter with a man with a gun, and while logic said Peter should be fine, could just rend the gun in half with his werewolf super strength, tonight was not a night of logic, it seemed.

Keith followed his nose, scenting the boy nearby, and sure enough he found him.  The human was gone, and Peter was sitting down, still somewhat moon-struck himself.  A bent tranq gun in his hands was all the damage he seemed to have taken. His dazed eyes locked on Keith’s own.

Keith was still a coyote, so Peter didn't recognize him by sight, and he was likely too moon-struck to recognize him by scent either.  And since wolves are likely to eat coyotes in the wild, Keith figured now would be a good time to turn back.

He shifted easily, his nudity the last thing on his mind as he retook human form.

Peter's eyes finally widened with recognition.  “Keith?”

“Come on, I need clothes and you need to talk,” Keith griped, spitting again because there was still blood, fuck.


	2. Lance Jams Keith's Garage Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said two weeks but this chapter is a little shorter so I figured I'd update now at 1 week instead! (Plus I'm so close to finishing I can taaaaste itttttt, I think I have enough time to do it even with speeding things up!)

Inside had been a good idea.  Keith dragged the body inside, away from prying eyes, and then he’d gotten Peter to talk.  It was easy enough, now that Peter knew Keith wouldn't think he was crazy.

Peter and his girlfriend, Gwen, had been out late on prom night in May, somewhere in Dallas.  They’d pulled into a parking lot for some juvenile making out, when the car door had been ripped off its hinges and the both of them were nearly torn to shreds by a wolf.  When Peter had woken up, he’d been in a cage, and Gwen hadn't made it.

He’d overheard a conversation, Peter had told Keith, where it sounded like someone named Prorok had sold him for $5000.  Prorok, Keith explained, was the Dallas alpha, and if that story held true, a dead man. The Marrok, the pack which had oversight for all the North American packs, would never allow an alpha to create and sell progeny.

Peter continued, saying that he’d been moved to Alamogordo and kept in a semi-trailer, in a cage with other wolves.  He’d been given drugs (which Keith told him in no uncertain terms absolutely shouldn't have worked– “I  _ know,” _ Peter had said, “Tried to get drunk to forget and not even 4 bottles of vodka did the trick.  Imagine how good I’d be at keg stands!”) which made him hazy and lose track of time. One by one the other wolves with him all vanished, and Peter had known he was gonna be next.  He’d broken out by pretending to shift–when they came inside to tranq him, he knocked two of them out and killed the third, before making a run for it.

He didn't know how he’d ended up in Las Cruces, had shifted and couldn't remember a thing from his time as a wolf, but when he finally woke up again as human, he was only a few hours walk from the city.  It was soon after that he’d found Keith.

Knowing all of that, Keith was finally ready to put his cards on the table.

“I know someone who can help you.  I won't tell him about you if you say no but hear me out; not all wolves are like the one that attacked you.  With a pack, with an alpha, you could go back to living a relatively normal life. And without one, you could hurt someone,” Keith took a deep breath, “I know the alpha of the local pack.  He's good, he wouldn't do anything like what those rogues did to you. Moreover, he’s competent; if he wanted you, he’d already have you. He's not involved. And besides, I’m going to have to call him either way about the dead wolf I have in my garage, but I am letting you know now, before I do, if you wanna make a break for it, and I'll keep your involvement as much a secret as I can.”

Peter nodded.  “You should call him.  I’ll… I'll stick around.  I keep looking at him,” he said, his voice sinking with horror as his eyes darted back to the corpse lying in the corner, “I want to eat him.”

Keith swore under his breath, his hand reaching for his phone at the same time as he promised Peter, “That’s perfectly normal.  Don't worry about it. Look at me, instead.”

Peter looked at him, swallowing, “Okay.”

“There's a lot of other stuff that tastes better and is a lot easier to live with,” Keith said, standing up and rummaging in his mini-fridge.  He pulled out a freezer-burned pack of breakfast sandwiches and tossed them to Peter. “Eat, I’m gonna call the guy I mentioned.”

Keith found Lance’s contact, pressing the green phone for call.

Two rings, and he picked up.  His voice was gentle, deep and a little husky, as Lance said, “What’s up, Keith?”

“I killed a werewolf at my garage,” Keith said, before he hung up.  At Peter’s bewildered look, he shrugged, “That’ll get him here faster than explaining it would.”

“...sure,” Peter said, a quirk to his brow.

Keith huffed out a laugh, because god, he probably had sounded a little crazy.  Sitting back down, he rested his elbows on his knees as he told Peter, “It shouldn't be too long before Lance gets here.  Don't look him in the eyes, and let me talk, okay? We want him to take you home with him. He can help you.”

“I've been fine on my own,” Peter hedged, avoiding Keith’s eyes.  He was second-guessing his earlier decision, and Keith wanted to ease the panic he knew must be bubbling under Peter’s skin, because it was eating away at himself too.

“For now, but if you had run into one of his pack, without them knowing you, they probably would’ve killed you.  You at least need him for that,” Keith coaxed.

“How do you know so much about werewolves?” Peter asked, his eyes drifting back to the body.

“I was raised by them,” Keith explained, scooting his chair over so he was blocking Peter’s line of sight. “My dad’s human, and he’s a fireman.  He rescued my mother from a burning building. She thanked him in a rather avant-garde fashion, and 9 months later, she left me on his doorstep without a word.  When I was little, I shifted a lot, and my father didn't know how to handle a child like me.”

His dad really had wanted the best for him.  For his whole life, Keith had received a call once a week from his father, and Ryou Kogane had never forgotten once.  There was love there, even if it was strange. Now that Keith was older, he wasn’t bitter about it.

“My great grand-uncle was a werewolf, and when my dad contacted him in fear, he recommended that he give me up to the–remember the Marrok?  The pack that keeps all the others in check? They have their own town where everyone knows about werewolves, and they control the law there.  It's safer there to have a kid who can't keep one form or another without giving away our existence to everyone. My dad gave me up to the pack because he knew they had a better idea of how to raise a shifter.”

“But you’re not a werewolf,” Peter said, “You don't smell like one.”

“No, I’m not,” Keith agreed, as his ears picked up the sound of crunching gravel and slightly squeaky brakes.

“Is that the alpha?” Peter asked.

“That's not his car,” Keith mumbled, more to himself than anything.  

Lance drove a nice, like, really nice, 2018 Jeep Grand Cherokee Trackhawk that he wouldn’t even let Keith get under the hood of, no matter how much Keith wheedled him about just getting  _ one  _ little peek at that 6.2-liter Hellcat V8 engine,  _ please _ .  But this car sounded small, a four-door, perhaps luxury even, model made for city streets and didn’t have the right rumble of the engine or crunch of gravel underneath the tires.  So who was it? Had the human run off and brought back reinforcements? Had someone called the cops? 

He grabbed his silver knife out of his sheath, given to him by his father who, ironically, had said his mother had left for him as a baby, as if she knew the trouble he’d get in.  Keith tossed it up so that the sound of it slicing through the air could ease a modicum of his tension, before twirling it into business position with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll go check.  You stay here, Peter.” 

As he walked off, he could faintly hear Peter let out a low whistle, and whisper, “I have the  _ coolest  _ boss.”

* * *

It wasn't the cops, that was for sure.  It was Axca, the local witch on retainer for the pack, and it was her job to make sure no one knew this kind of thing ever happened.  If someone left evidence of werewolves, Axca was paid to come out and make it disappear.

She liked Keith for some reason.  She called him 'dear' and pinched his cheeks, but it had always come off more condescending to Keith than endearing.

“Hello, dear,” Axca said as she stepped out of her black Mustang, her pantsuit crisp and sharp.  “Lance tells me you killed one of his wolves.”

“Not one of his,” Keith corrected.  “The body's inside. But he chased me around the block while he was bleeding out, and he tore through my fence twice.”

“I’ll clean it.  Should I be looking for casings for silver bullets?” She asked as she pinched his cheek.  He let her, knowing that he needed her help with this and angering the witch in charge of every witch in the whole town was how he got the police at his door, asking about blood stains tomorrow morning.

“I killed him with my teeth.”  Keith felt nauseous just thinking about it.  He could still taste the man's blood if he licked at his teeth.

“Impressive, dear.  You stay inside until Lance gets here and I’ll do the rest,” Axca waved him off.

Right.  Keith should probably be getting back to Peter.  Before the poor kid made any bad decisions.

Heading back inside, Keith wrinkled his nose as he saw Peter crouched next to the body, his fingers trailing through the blood that had pooled beside the body.  Keith’s heart stopped as he watched the boy suck on his fingers, licking off the drying blood, and leaning back in, a hair too close to comfort to the dead body than anyone would like.

“Come here, Peter,” He coaxed.

Peter growled at him.

_ Fuck, okay.  _  Keith’s foster father had always said a stern voice worked on werewolves like a dream, as long as he didn't show any fear.  And since Lance was taking his sweet time, Keith was the only one here with a hope of controlling Peter. He’d done it a couple times before.  Maybe he could do it again.

Using his strictest voice, Keith demanded, “Peter, leave him alone and  _ come here _ .”

Peter shook his head, like he was coming out of a daze.  “Oh wow, that helped. Can you do it again?”

“Come here, Peter,” Keith repeated, taking calm, even breaths to slow down his heart rate.  He couldn't let Peter know he was afraid. Only prey felt obvious fear in front of a wolf. Keith was not prey.

Peter got up, and sat down by Keith’s feet.  “You smell good,” he said, which absolutely wasn't flattering.  He licked at his fingers once again.

The garage door, the big one for cars, slammed itself open with alarming speed, considering it was too heavy for any human to lift.  And there, standing in the moonlight, was a man, his hand lifted from where he had thrown the steel door up like it weighed nothing.

_ Lance _ , Keith thought, and the relief taking him over was stronger than ever.

For a moment, Keith appreciated him like he would a human; tall, long-limbed, and brown skinned.  Athletic build, broad chest, tight ass, really pretty face. Lance was Cuban, and it showed in his skin and hair, but his eyes belonged purely to his Scottish ancestry, big bright and blue.  Sharp nose, narrow eyes, strong jaw, thin lips–anyone who saw him might think they couldn't keep their eyes off him because he was beautiful, but they’d be wrong. All alphas, no matter what they looked like, drew your eye.  Lance’s handsome smile and musculature didn't hurt, though.

“Lance,” Keith said, doing exactly opposite of what he’d told Peter and staring the alpha in the eye, because he could, and because he could smell the alpha’s anger rolling off him in salty waves. He waved at the dead body, bringing his attention to it, “If this wolf was one of yours, you’re doing a shit job. He was new, he was moonstruck, and he wasn't in control of himself.  When I ripped out his throat, he just let himself bleed out–”

“Well, I’m doing a great fucking job, because he’s not one of mine,” Lance snarled, his eyes locking in on Peter instead, “And neither is that.”

“He’s not a  _ that, _ Lance,” Keith gritted his teeth.  Lance wasn't  _ listening _ to him.  “This is Peter, he came to my garage asking me for help three days ago.  He’s very recently changed.  Prorok’s pack–”

“And so you locked yourself in a garage with a new wolf and a dead body?  Christ, Keith,  _ dios mio _ , didn't you ever think that was a bad, dangerous idea?” Lance accused, heading over to him, still furious.

Keith crossed his arms, glaring, “If you’d just let me explain, Lance, you’d know why I did it!”

“Yeah right, you impulsive–” Lance cut himself off, mid-rant, to look at Peter.  Keith followed his gaze, but the new wolf was still wrapped around his legs, sniffing him occasionally with glazed eyes.

“Keith, step away from the wolf,” Lance said, his voice quiet.  And unlike Keith’s shaky attempts at commanding, Lance’s commands were always iron strong no matter how loud or strict his voice.  Right now he sounded like cinnamon, smelled just as good too, but it was clear that regardless of how sweet his voice sounded that Keith had to obey, or at least try to.

And so Keith did.  Try to, that is, because half a step found Keith with Peter wrapped around his leg, holding him down with such force that Keith would have to break his leg to get free.

“He’s mine,” Peter growled, eyes locked with Lance’s.  From his position, his nose rucked up Keith’s shirt, and he licked a tiny patch of skin just below Keith’s belly button, right over his tattoo of the coyote paw print.

The stomach was weak.  It was a favorite target of predators.  No ribs to break through, no spine to impede the bite… Peter was poised to disembowel Keith with all the ease of someone pulling the stuffing out of a teddy bear.  Keith swallowed that knowledge with a whole lot of fear.

“I think you’ll find that he's actually mine,” Lance snarled softly, taking a step forward.

Keith might've found it flattering to have two men fighting over him, except Peter was both underage and obviously talking about dinner, and who knows what Lance meant.  And since Keith had no intention of being dinner, he grabbed his big crowbar from his tool shelf behind him, and cracked it down hard over Peter’s collar bone.

Peter howled with pain, one arm dangling uselessly and the other one clutching at where Keith must’ve shattered bone.  That moment of panic was enough for Keith to scramble back, out of reach of either of the two wolves. He felt bad, seeing the tears gather in Peter’s soft brown eyes, but werewolves healed quickly, especially if they shifted.  With any luck, Peter would be fine in a couple hours, and Keith knew the kid was more likely to recover from broken bones than murder any day.

Before Peter could get his bearings and retaliate, Lance snatched him up by his neck, yanking him back and restraining him with a tight forearm.  Keith swallowed, adjusting his grip on the crowbar as he took another step back. He knew that both the wolves could smell his fear, but he had promised Peter that Lance was here to help.  He wasn’t going to leave the new wolf to an angry alpha, without any way to defend himself.

“He's a  _ victim _ , Lance,” Keith pleaded, taking a step back forward with the crowbar still in hand, “He doesn't have control yet.  The wolf I killed was trying to attack him, and there was another man here too, human. They said they kept him in a cage.   _ Please _ .”

Lance’s look of alarm was so sharp that Keith hastily re-explained the situation, so that the alpha was on the same page as he was.  He explained the drugs, the cages, the fact that Prorok sold him, all of it.

Lance’s eyes softened, his voice soft as he swore under his breath.  “Poor kid. I don't have a connection with him yet, Keith. It’d help if I knew his full name.”

Keith nodded, white-knuckling the crowbar as he asked, “Peter.  What’s your real name?”

“Bandor Peterson,” Peter said, hanging limp in Lance’s grip.  He looked at Keith, pleading, but somehow also still hungry, still hunting.

“Bandor Peterson,” Lance said, his voice the right kind of quiet where it sounded more sensual than anything.  Keith knew it was his power leaking over, his dominance making itself clear, but still a part of him shivered to hear it.  “You need to change. You’ll heal faster as a wolf.”

“N-no, I–! I can't control the monster!” Peter panicked.

“I can,” Lance said, curtly and without a doubt.  “And it's not a monster. It's as much a monster as a great white shark or a grizzly bear.  And with practice, you’ll learn to control it too.”

Peter was looking at Lance with big, hopeful eyes.  Trusting eyes. Keith knew that was just how it went with alphas.  Wolves and humans alike loved them, found themselves drawn in by their aura, followed their commands without a thought.  If Keith left now, Peter wouldn't be afraid to be alone with a stranger; he already trusted Lance with his life.

And the thought was very comforting as Lance asked him gently, “Can I borrow a knife?  This will be easier if he’s naked.”

Keith almost went for the silver dagger he kept hooked on his belt, the one he’d pulled on Axca earlier that night, but intelligence kicked back in and he grabbed an exacto knife off his work counters and tossed that over instead.

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance winked at him, before turning back to Peter.  “Let's get you out of those rags first. Then I’ll teach you how to shift at will.”

Keith took the slicing of Peter's shirt to be his cue to leave.  He didn't want to watch; without the aid of the full moon, shifting could take up to an hour long, an excruciating process that involved a lot of screaming, and broken bones or injuries, like the one Keith had given him, didn't help aid the process.

Even as Keith stepped outside and closed the door behind him, he heard the first of Peter’s rattling screams.

Keith didn't know why he could shift into a coyote so easily, without pain, when werewolves were basically tortured to do it.  For all the perks of being a werewolf, there were many, many downsides. Squeezing his eyes shut, he instead turned his attention to Axca, who was strutting back over to him with purpose.

“I've erased the footage, the damage to your fence, and the blood.  I suppose it would now be time for the body, except that you failed to mention there was another wolf,” Axca put a manicured hand on her hip.  “ _ Tsk tsk _ , dear.  What if you’d gotten hurt?”

“I've been around wolves all my life.  I'm not scared of getting hurt,” Keith answered, leaning back against the wall.

“I know you have.  You're brave and more than a little lucky.  But little coyotes who run with wolves will find their luck runs out eventually.”

Peter’s scream grew louder, hoarser, until it became inhuman altogether–a wolf’s howl.  With Lance there, and the Gibbeous moon outside, that must have made it quick. Peter deserved some luck after the day he’d had, and a quick change and a few hours to heal were small mercies.  

“Let’s head back,” Keith nodded towards the door.  Axca didn’t look eager to move yet, but he knew it was safe to come inside.  Lance would have Peter under control.

“If you say so, dear,” Axca said as she followed him back inside, where Peter sat at Lance’s feet.

Werewolves don't look like wolves, not really.  They're too big, their coats more dog-like than wolf, their front paws as big as a bear’s and their bodies built for tearing flesh apart.  They still most closely resemble a wolf if you had to pick an animal, but that was like saying an Alaskan malamute looked like a wolf. You knew it wasn't one.

Peter had a brown coat, but his paws were white and he had a stripe up his nose the same color.  He was kind of cute, honestly, even though he was whining in pain as his collar bone healed itself back up.  Keith knew better than to try to pet him.

“Keith,” Lance greeted with a small smile, “Here’s your knife back.  And I see you brought me the lovely Axca.”

Axca was a lot less fond of Lance than she was of Keith, for some reason, but she held her hand out for him to kiss, and huffed when he actually did it.

“Making me get involved with your messes all the time,” she said, her eyes finding the corpse in the dark of the room easily.  “Really, Lance, you don't pay me enough.”

“Ah, the legendary sweetness of Axca Plisetskya.” Lance grinned at her, his playful words disarming.  Keith had known a lot of alphas who tried to come off the same way, to hide how powerful they truly were, but for Lance his words weren't a game.  He was just a likable person, and he really was easy-going. “Could you reverse the man’s change for me? It's hard to identify a man when his face is half wolf. And Keith, the lights?”

Keith hit the light switch because he was standing right next to it, not because he was obeying Lance.  They probably needed more light if they were going to try to ID the dead man anyway.

With a chant that sent shivers down Keith’s spine and a good amount of magical bullshit that he didn't want to understand, Axca had the wolf changed back, and the corpse looked even worse now.

The throat was gouged out so widely, it looked like a rotting watermelon.  The man’s body was grey, or blue, or red, depending on where you looked, and his clothes were torn up in ways that Keith actually might’ve found funny, if you know, he hadn't been the one to murder this man.

Axca laughed, her job done and herself free to make whatever comments she wanted.  “His crotch ripped open. You never see that on TV, dear.”

Lance had his iPhone out, taking pictures of the man’s face and body.  From his pants pocket, he produced ink and paper, and he took the man’s fingerprints with unnerving ease.  “I’ll search through our databases to see if I get a hit. But I don't recognize his face or scent. Axca, I think once you remove the body, we’re done here for tonight.”

Keith let out a breath, relaxing against the counter he’d been leaning up against.  He’d had enough excitement tonight to last him a lifetime.

Axca loaded the body into her car, erased the smell and the blood, and Lance took Peter with him in his car.

Keith stayed a little longer, putting his crowbar and knife back in place, lingering on pure adrenaline.  He thought about his original plans for the evening, but instead he locked back up his keys for the four-wheeler and grabbed his car keys.  He gladly gave up on the thought of running as a coyote; all he wanted to do was pass out and sleep, and so Keith drove himself home, too.

* * *

By the time Keith got back, Lance’s driveway and the whole road was packed with so many cars that Keith found one audacious car in his own driveway that didn't belong to him.  And also on his front porch was a girl who didn't belong to him.

Keith stepped out of his car and greeted her with a wave.

Lance’s daughter Safia was a happy, bossy, nosy girl about 15 years old.  Keith had known she was here for the summer from the loud Fall Out Boy pounding from the upstairs speakers Friday night, so it was only a matter of time before Lance sent her over here, to keep her out of pack business and away from so many wolves.

She looked a lot like her father in the face, but she had her Filipino mother’s tiny build and almond eyes.  Much to her strict mother's frustration and to her father’s pride, she dyed her wavy, shoulder-length hair every color of the rainbow, and most recently she had shaved most of it off on one side.  She didn't have any tattoos– _ yet,  _ she always said–but that didn't stop her from admiring Keith’s sleeves every time she caught him in a t-shirt or tank top.  Safia was the kind of teenager that would’ve terrified Keith had he still been one.

She was also human.  

Wolves can't carry children to term even if they become pregnant; the shift is too stressful and the child is aborted.  And if a human is impregnated by a wolf, the likelihood of miscarriage is still high. Children are hard to come by for wolves, and that made Lance’s daughter all the more precious to him, and it came out in his habit of keeping her out of most of his business, away with her mother almost all year long and only coming to see him for holidays and vacations.

Keith knew this, because Lance often sent her over to his place during pack meetings and business.

“Dad kicked me out again,” She explained as Keith unlocked the door and let them in.  “Plus he gave me a super cryptic message for you.”

“Did he?” Keith asked, pulling out his poorly made cookies from earlier that evening, a time that felt like it was days ago instead of hours, and he absent-mindedly offered her one.

“Yeah.  He said,  _ 'Don’t worry, got a hit.  Hired gun.’ _ Now, tell me what he means,” Safia demanded as she munched on the cookie.  “Also, these kinda suck.”

“Hunk didn't make them,” Keith said, and he had to agree with her.  They really did turn out bad, but he didn't have the energy to make anything else.

“The message, though?” She prompted.

Well, if Lance didn't want her to know, then he shouldn't have sent her over here with the message.

“I killed a man today at my garage.  Your dad was telling me he found out who it was,” Keith said, which was probably not his best idea but Safia was smart and moreover, determined.  Keith had known her since she was in kindergarten, back when Lance and his ex-wife, Maricela, first bought the property next door. That was more than long enough to know she wouldn't let something drop until he caved.

“Does that have anything to do with the wolf my dad brought back?” Safia mimed a stripe over her nose, “The cute one?  I was petting his belly and my dad just about had his head pop off. He tossed me out so quick!”

“His name’s Peter,” Keith told her.

“He wasn't going to hurt me,” Safia said through a mouthful of cookie.

“Peter’s new, so his control isn't great yet.  Your dad’s just looking out for you,” he said, going to his fridge and pouring them each a glass of milk.

“Oooh, fancy milk,” Safia made grabby hands.  Fancy milk, she said, because Keith was supposed to use soy or some other equivalent.  Right now he had lactose-free milk because it was better for baking, but normally he preferred soy or coconut.

This did not stop him from eating so much cheese he felt like he was gonna die, despite the Lactaid pills.

And, because he had to say it, Keith added, “Safia, there are some of your father’s wolves that you need to stay away from.”

She snorted, dunking her fifth cookie, “You mean Rolo.  His accent’s cool but he comes off like a brony.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, although he wasn't sure exactly what a brony was.

There had been a string of particularly violent rapes in London, and when Rolo had been made the main suspect, the alpha sent Rolo out of the country in hopes to let that suspicion cool down.  There was no proof he’d done it, but the rapes had stopped once Rolo set foot on American soil.

Keith didn't want Safia anywhere near Rolo, or any vulnerable human woman, but Lance had mercifully let him join his pack regardless of his inability to fully trust him.  Keith just hoped it didn't backfire on him.

It took a couple hours before most of the wolves started to leave, and Keith decided he wasn't going to let Safia sleep on his lumpy, crumb-covered couch, so he shook her shoulder around midnight, bringing her back to the land of the living so he could walk her home.

“It's only like a 5-minute walk,” Safia grumbled, “I’m not a baby.  No one would touch me, not with my dad.”

“Maybe I wanted to grab my mail,” Keith lied, still escorting her across his premises onto Lance’s property.  He stiffened when he saw Rolo and Lance’s second, Kinkade, talking in the front yard, but he was going to stand his ground.  Safia was going to be inside the house before he let her out of his sight.

He wished the girl goodnight, giving her the quick hug she was looking for.  Keith waved, but his hackles were still raised, even knowing that the whole of Lance’s pack was probably just as protective of her as he was.

He did end up grabbing his mail from the box, but the smell of hair dye and pizza grease greeted him.  Rolo had snuck up on him, a lazy grin on his mouth.

Kinkade hung back, but he nodded at Keith, silently acknowledging him.  Keith figured Kinkade was just a naturally respectful person, since Lance’s second was more than dominant enough to ignore an outsider to the pack like Keith was.

Rolo wasn't nearly as nice.

“Don't trust Saf around me?” He asked, like he wanted a fight.

Keith didn't want to fight anymore tonight.  “I don't know, should I?”

“I wouldn't hurt her.  Wouldn't hurt you, either, so you can relax some of those stiff muscles, babe,” Rolo waggled his eyebrows.

“Don't flirt with me,” Keith snapped, “I already killed one wolf tonight.  Don't make me raise that number.”

Kinkade put his hand on Rolo’s shoulder, the tone of his voice strange as he said, “Not now, Rolo.  It isn't the right time.”

Rolo backed down, because he had to.  He couldn't ignore a command from the second of the pack, not without starting a fight.

“Have a good night, Keith,” Kinkade nodded again, and dragged Rolo off with him.  “It’s not safe. Lock your doors.”

It didn't calm Keith’s nerves, that was for sure.  And to add insult to injury, his only mail was a stack of bills that he’d already paid online.  Fucking great.


	3. RIP Keith's Sleeping Cycle: Press F to Pay Respects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for waiting! This took two weeks, so it's going to be a double update!
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with character death, you might want to skip this chapter.

Sleep didn't come easy, not with everything else that had happened.  So it didn't surprise Keith that 3:49 AM saw him waking to the sound of squealing tires.  He stretched on all fours, yawning.

He almost always slept as a coyote.  First off, because he could, and second, because he had limited space and his bed was tiny.  He could sleep just fine either way, and he liked to curl up in a tiny, safe little ball if he didn't have anyone else with him.

He used to be spoiled, as a teenager, when Shiro had been the big, wolfy spoon to his little one, and the wolf had promised he’d chase all of Keith’s nightmares away.  Keith tried not to think of Shiro–for a wound 16 years old, the thought of his foster brother was still a sore one.

Normally he’d just adjust, pretend to dig into his blankets more, maybe chew on the dog toy he, uh, totally didn't buy for himself on nights exactly like this, but his nose picked up the stench of something foul.  Something like death.

And considering he’d been up close and personal with that exact stench only a couple hours ago?  His bad feeling returned in full force.

Shaking off his coyote form and his blankets in one go, Keith pulled on a pair of joggers and grabbed his knife off of his bedside table.  He had a gun too somewhere, but Keith didn't like guns and wouldn't own one if he didn't know exactly what horrors lurked in the night.

Another squealing set of tires and flashing headlights as yet another car peeled away down the street.

Keith ran towards his window, catching the tail end of the car as it turned off their street.  Indistinct license, regular SUV. He couldn't see more unless he went outside.

Pulling on a pair of flip-flops, because he didn't have much else, Keith opened his door.  Or well, he tried to open his door. It gave a whole lot of resistance, and he ended up having to put his weight into it, the door finally squeaking open.

Keith’s first foster family had lived in a two-story place in Aspen Falls, Montana.  The stairs had one bad step, and it took Keith’s foster father down tumbling once. The sound of a werewolf, with their heavier than average body weight and their large muscle mass, thumping down a whole staircase was not a sound he’d quickly forget.

He’d been laughing then.  He wasn't laughing now.

The four steps up to Keith’s door were tall, wooden ones, and they were smeared with the scent of death.  And at the bottom, having been shoved out of the way when Keith opened the door, was a dead body.

The smell told him the corpse’s identity before Keith flipped him over, chanting, “N-no, no, no _ nonono _ –”

Peter’s dead eyes stared up at him, glassy and swollen, his tongue too big to fit in his mouth.

Keith heaved a sob, closing the poor boy’s eyes as he took a moment to let reality sink in.  Someone had killed Peter and left him on Keith’s doorstep. Someone had done this but Keith couldn't smell them, couldn't see their footprints in the rocks and scuffed dirt of his yard, and he couldn't remember their license plate, if that car had even been the ones who’d done this.

Fuck, Peter.  Peter had deserved better, Peter was finally with Lance and–

_ Lance. _

Keith shot back up to his feet, pulling his knife out of his sheath and stalking over to Lance’s house, which despite the time had almost every light still turned on.

Something had happened over there and Keith needed to figure out what.

The front door was unlocked, slightly ajar, and Keith shoved his way inside, hackles raised and eyes darting back and forth as he took in the scene.

Carnage and wreckage.  Keith had never seen Lance’s house be anything less than impeccable.  Man had a leveler for his framed family photos for fuck’s sake.

The soft sound of classical guitar from Lance’s expensive speakers was contrasted with the blood splatters on the walls, the dead bodies; the piano that had been picked up and tossed across the room like a blow-up pool floatie and not a several thousand dollar antique instrument.  The dead bodies were wolves by smell, but they weren't part of Lance’s pack. One was skewered on the leg of the piano, the wood jutting out her chest as her body slumped back like a ragdoll. Another wolf rasped his last breath on the floor, fully transformed with his tail and hind leg ripped clean off amongst other grievous injuries.  He was going to bleed out without medical attention; he might as well have been dead.

Keith left the living room behind, following the sound of soft snarls and snapping jaws.  He had to step over a pair of broken handcuffs, silver in color, and he bet money they were made of silver too.  Unless Lance had suddenly gained a kinky fetish for being burned and restrained, they must've been brought by the attackers, hoping to restrain Lance.

It hadn't worked.

In the dining room, one of the biggest rooms in the house, made to seat the whole McClain family and all of their friends, the table went much like the piano, tossed right out into the family room like it wasn't heavy oak with a fine finish.  The fact it was cracked in half now just reminded Keith why he didn't get into fights with werewolves.

He was going to have to change his stance on that though, Keith though, as he saw two wolves snarling and snapping at each other in the place of that nice table.

The smaller one was a chestnut brown, with a more traditional set of markings for a timber wolf, if not for the black boots and the stripe down the wolf’s back, like a skunk.  A sandy underbelly added a more dog-like appearance, along with the two brightest blue eyes on an animal that Keith had ever seen, so pale they were like ice. _Lance._

The other one was grey, with a silver underbelly and a black muzzle.  He was big, but he was slow, and Lance took advantage of that as he lunged, in the beautiful, mesmerizing way only true predators could. 

Werewolves were beautiful fighters.  Their bodies were made for it, and their sleek forms found the art of killing so so easy they made it a deadly dance.  It was easy to forget that they weren't safely on the other side of a TV screen, that they were real and watching was dangerous, no matter what you were.

At first Keith wasn't truly worried; Lance was up on his feet and still attacking, and he wasn't one to lose a fight.  Size didn't matter, not against the skill and dominance of an alpha—and Lance was the most dominant alpha outside the Marrok pack.

But Lance was the one tracking blood everywhere, a whole section of his side ripped open wide and his back leg obviously broken, the edge of bone grotesquely poking out of his skin.  Keith could see the pink of intestine and the white of bone and the shiny red of fresh blood. Lance wasn't going to win this fight.

Keith tightened his grip on his knife.

He’d never been too good at aiming guns.  But he could throw knives. And he’d been throwing this one his whole life.

He steadied his hand, waited for Lance to move out of the way, took a deep breath.  Aimed carefully, the opportunity only a split second… and then threw the knife so hard it sunk deep into the foreign wolf’s throat, blood bubbling up all around it.

The wolf slumped, the primary artery splayed wide open by the silver dagger sticking right out of his neck.  Lance growled at Keith for interfering, but Keith's adrenaline was pumping and he wasted no time in grabbing the knife, yanking it out and cutting the neck further, his panic much louder than his revulsion.  He couldn't let this wolf hurt Lance more, not when the alpha looked so weak already.

Keith kneeled down by Lance, watching the alpha as he slumped, pressing his huge, wounded body against Keith with a whine.  For a second, he heard Lance’s breath stop, and Keith panicked, burying his hands in that warm bloody coat as he begged whatever gods there might be to save his neighbor.

There were darts scattered around the floor, and Keith felt one still sticking out of Lance’s coat.  He carefully pulled it out. Peter had said they had tranquilizers that worked on wolves. That would explain why Lance had struggled so much.

Damn,  _ damn,  _ **_damn,_ ** Keith thought, pocketing it.  He ran his hands gently over Lance’s fur to see if he found more, but he came up empty.  There was blood, though, coating his palms.

And Lance, he still wasn't breathing right.  Keith opened the wolf’s mouth and held his hand there, begging the gods to feel air blowing past his fingers.

At first there was nothing, but slowly his breath picked back up, and his eyes drifted open and then closed again, into a healing sleep.  Keith made himself inhale, his shoulders relaxing as he held Lance’s head on his lap. He brushed back some fur that had started to matt with dried blood, combing it out with his fingers as he tried to regain control of himself.  This much fear near Lance would only make the predator anxious and hungry, knowing it's trapped inside with easy prey.

There was nothing to be afraid of, Keith told himself, lulling himself into an adrenaline-based false calm.  Werewolves are hardy. If one is still alive and mostly whole, they’ll probably stay that way. They don't get infected and they heal fast, especially if they are in wolf form, like Lance was, and if they just let themselves sleep and heal, like Lance had done.  The alpha would be alright.

Keith breathed in the scent of the werewolf in his lap quickly for the comfort of knowing he was still alive, and then carefully slid out from underneath him.  

Hopefully Safia had stayed hidden in her room upstairs, and was left alone.  She wouldn't be able to sleep through it, but if this was alpha or pack business, no one would’ve bothered her–just a small human, out of the way and scared.

And if she wasn’t okay, if something had happened to her too—

No.  First things first.  Keith had to get ahold of Lance’s second, had to get help.  Kinkade had been an army medic before his change and he would know what to do.  Keith didn't know his number, but the phone book in Lance’s kitchen should.

Keith tossed open every damn drawer to find the yellow pages, having to bite down his frustration finding every other form of weird cooking utensil instead.  Who even needed two different sets of egg cups? And why the fuck did Lance keep an entire drawer of color-coordinated twist ties?! It would be fucking endearing if Keith didn't feel he was on a fucking time limit, here!  Dammit, Lance!

Of course the phone book was in the last drawer on the right, and Keith cursed and ran his finger down the page, looking for Ryan Kinkade.  There! Thank fuck that most werewolves were still old-fashioned enough for home phones.

A ring, two rings, three, four… voicemail.   _ Fuck. _  Keith tried again, but no luck.

When the voicemail finished, dread settled in Keith’s stomach.   _ “Not now, Rolo,” _ Kinkade had said,  _ “It isn't the right time.” _

Was this a coup d’etat?

Keith hadn't thought about that but the coincidence that Lance would be attacked only after all his wolves left?  On the same night that he’d helped Peter? How had the enemy wolves even known where to find his house, if this was retaliation for helping Peter?  It stunk of the thought of some lower ranked wolf wanting a chance at being alpha, and murder was still the most common way pack leadership changed hands.

And even if it wasn't, the opportunity this presented to the dominant wolves in Lance’s pack would be a delicious one.  They could kill the alpha easily now that he’s wounded and take his pack; if any of them had dreams of grandeur, this was a chance served up on a silver platter.

But it still felt too fishy, and those words Kinkade had left him with?   _ “It’s not safe.  Lock your doors,”? _  Something wasn't right.

Keith couldn't contact the pack. 

His calm all but shredded, he looked at a picture on Lance’s counter of him holding a baby Safia, cropped suspiciously so his ex-wife was literally out of the picture.  Her big bubbly smile was gummy and she was dressed like a pumpkin for Halloween.

Safia wasn't safe if the pack had been involved.  They knew how much she meant to Lance. They knew he would die to keep her safe.  If they kidnapped her, they could make Lance do whatever they wanted.

Keith took the stairs two at a time, fear building up in his stomach again.  “Saf?” he called, trying to keep his voice down. “Safia?”

The lack of answer wasn't promising.  Safia wanted to be called by her full name because it sounded more mature but she knew him, she knew his voice, and she knew her old nickname.  She would've responded. She would've told him not to call her that, and he would’ve laughed and hugged her but she didn't respond so she wasn't  _ okay— _

He felt the tears building in his eyes unbidden as he looked inside her room, her door having been busted wide open.  Safia wasn't a neat kid, her stuff in such a whirlwind that Keith couldn't tell if there’d been a struggle, but he didn't smell blood and there was no body.  She wouldn’t’ve gone willingly, so they must’ve knocked her out. 

Keith needed to figure out what happened.  His senses were stronger as a coyote, so he shucked off his joggers and flip-flops and shifted.  Once he was on all fours, he inhaled deep through his nose, trying to shift through the smells until he could track what might've happened here.

He was right; the smell of the human who’d threatened Peter at the garage was all over the place.  The man had been in here, probably grabbed Safia although it was honestly still too difficult to tell, what with her scent coating every inch of the room.

Keith tracked the man’s scent back down the stairs, through the kitchen, and then to the front door.  He had Safia, had to have her, because no one else went to her room, and her scent went everywhere his did.

But out the front door?

Nothing lingered out there but the scent of Peter’s dead body and the crisp air of an early desert morning.  The trail went cold.

Keith heard a whine, weak and broken, coming from behind him.  He turned back from the front door, darting over to where Lance lay flat out on the ground, his eyes struggling to stay open.

_ Fuck. _

Even though Keith kept reassuring himself that Lance would be fine, that he’d heal, the reality of the situation was slightly different.  He couldn't just leave the alpha here like this, and he didn't know any first aid himself.

Lance needed help, needed real medical attention.  Hurt werewolves are dangerous; they can't control themselves and they’re just a huge, angry, scared animal willing to kill to keep themselves safe.  He couldn't trust Lance's pack to help him, not if they were involved. Keith needed another, more dominant wolf to keep Lance under control while he healed–and unfortunately there was only one place he could find one.


	4. Scooby-Dooby-Doo, Where Are You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a double update, so if you missed the last chapter, feel free to go back and read it!

Now, Keith doesn't abuse the trust of his clients.  He never drives their cars if it's not to check that they’re running correctly.  And he never uses them to haul a dead body and a half-dead werewolf across the damn country.

But he had to.  He didn't own anything big enough on his own and he needed to take Lance to the Marrok.  So he was taking Lotor’s VW bus, painted like the damn Mystery Machine, cross country with Peter’s body under a tarp with a whole host of bags of ice on top of him in the back, and Lance unconscious in the back seat.

Aspen Falls, Montana was where the Marrok kept his pack.  

From Las Cruces, New Mexico, to Aspen Falls, Montana, it was 21 hours drive.  That was too long, in Keith’s opinion, to be driving with a dead body and a hurt wolf in the back.  But he didn't have a choice–he couldn't risk anything happening to Lance and he needed the help of the Marrok.

Keith had been on the highway for about 6 hours of nonstop driving, landing him in Colorado, when he heard Lance start to whine, his paws shuffling.  The wolf was waking up.

Whether or not Lance would be awake with the wolf was another question.  Keith didn't bank on it. The wolf was stronger, better fit for survival.  Lance would be asleep, letting his more fit animal half take over while he healed.

Well, feeding it was the first step to taming the beast, especially since it would be hungry; healing is hard work and repairing muscles took protein.

Keith therefore pulled into the Kentucky Fried Chicken Drive-Thru with one goal in mind: buying as much meat as he could physically shove down Lance’s throat.

The employee was extremely amused by his order of 13 family buckets but he could only shrug and say, “You know Scooby Doo?  Big eater, it turns out.”

“Funny,” she laughed, handing them over one by one.

It was meant to be, but Keith knew he would be dropping the smile in the parking lot as he took the fried skin off of 13 family buckets worth of chicken as he fed  _ 'Scooby Doo’ _ in the back.

Lance peered his ice blue eyes at Keith as he sat down next to him, chicken in hand.  He snarled softly, too injured to move, but his jaws snapped up the chicken, bones and all, as Keith tossed it to him.

They went through 7 of the 13 buckets, which wasn't a good sign.  If Lance wasn’t eating properly, he was more injured than Keith had thought.

There was a strong urge for Keith to shift, to curl up next to Lance and lick his wounds, to respond to Lance’s whines with whines of his own.  But Lance wasn't Shiro; acting that familiar with a wolf would get him killed for so many reasons, and it was stupid and unhelpful. Lance’s wolf likely wouldn't even recognize him, so it wouldn't be like how Lance would heal better surrounded by one of his pack.

Instead, Keith got back in the car and drove.

He didn't take another break until 3:30 ish for gas, pulling into a little town in the middle of nowhere, the decrepit convenience store baking under the western summer sun.

Keith checked his phone as the gas pumped—4 missed calls from Hunk, one from Kinkade, another from Axca.  Axca left a message, which Keith replayed almost immediately; she wasn’t one to call anyone unless it was dire.

“Keith, sweetheart,” her voice said in the honeyed tone she used with him, “I cleaned your porch and your house.  Don't worry about paying me back, think of it as a favor. In return, I just ask you take care of yourself, alright darling?  Stay safe, my dear.”

Huh.  That was… nice of her.  She had dealt with the smell and the body stain just because she liked him…?  Something about it didn't sit right with Keith. Maybe it was something in her voice that sounded off.

Maybe she felt guilty because… well, because obviously a witch had removed the scents of the people involved with the raid on Lance’s house, hiding the smell of whoever put Peter on Keith’s porch.  Maybe she had been the one to do it, or maybe it was one of her proteges gone rogue. Either way, she might have been complicit.

Keith paid for his gas, and left.  He didn't bother to listen to Hunk’s messages, not when he didn't know if he could trust the pack.  Keith would trust Hunk with his life, but if Hunk was with the rest of the pack, they’d all overhear and if this was an inside job, it would only cause even more dissent in the pack.  And if Keith listened to those messages, he knew the worry and desperation in Hunk’s voice would have him pressing on his best friend’s contact info before he could stop himself, babbling about how they were both okay, where they were headed, and probably how long it’d be until they got there.

So, it was better this way.

Keith drove the next five hours without stopping, because Lance’s wolf had fallen back into a deep sleep, and he only pulled over to feed the wolf once it started stirring on its own.  The room-temperature chicken didn't look very appetizing as Keith fed it to the large, overgrown beast in the backseat, but as long as it kept Lance from eating Peter or himself, he supposed it was doing all he could ask of it.

He didn't even think about eating himself until past midnight, when the exhaustion and the grittiness in his eyes was causing him to swerve on the road.  Three red bulls, a burger, and a large fries let him make it until about 4 am. He couldn't help it.

Keith had to sleep before he passed out.

He pulled over into a Walmart parking lot, to the very very back, locked the doors and drew the curtains, set an alarm for two hours, and finally sat back with the intention of getting some shut-eye.

Lance made a pained noise as he shifted, and Keith gritted his teeth.  He wasn't going to shift, not when Lance was more liable to eat him than ignore him.  But with such a cramped space… he wanted to shift. To curl up small and feel safe, as a coyote.  To hop into the back of the van, and curl up with Lance, to share the wolf’s warmth and to enjoy nosing at his soft coat.

Lance wasn't Shiro, Keith reminded himself.  Shiro had trained his wolf to accept his little brother in any form, and their familial bond let Keith climb on Shiro’s massive black and silver body like a jungle gym.  When Keith had nightmares, Shiro would endure the pain of shifting just so he could curl up behind Keith and suffocate him in the safe feeling of being loved.

Keith sighed in frustration, grinding his palms into his eyes as he huffed.  It had been years since he’d thought so much on his brother. It was the threat of seeing him again, being in close contact with the man who had been Keith’s entire world once.  And he had to admit there was still a whole lot of anger inside him, directed towards Shiro. He didn't forgive and forget, and there was a reason he hadn't been back to Aspen Falls in years.

Keith didn't want to think about Shiro anymore.  He gave in to his instincts, shifting to his coyote form silently and curling up alone on the driver’s seat, his scent sour with his thoughts.

Lance whined again, obviously catching the change in his scent, and before it could become a growl, Keith yipped back.  Despite the fact it shouldn't have worked, it seemed to, and Lance quieted down once again.

If anyone found this Volkswagen, it would be rather hard to explain why two wild animals were sleeping inside it in a Walmart parking lot.  But the thought of bewildered animal control officers just seeing Lance for the first time had Keith amused and content enough to drift off.

* * *

The morning to mid-afternoon drive saw Keith with even more coffee and a wrong turn, but soon enough the two of them were driving up the long dirt road that led to Aspen Falls.

It was a good thing, too.

At lunch, Keith had stopped to feed the wolf and had found none of Lance’s kindness in those ice blue eyes, and if Keith wasn't quick enough with the burger patties, the wolf tried to stand up and lunge for them.  The pain kept it laying down, but the amount of movement Lance was increasingly capable of was very very dangerous.

Keith tied Lance to the seat with his spare set of yoga pants and prayed the drive would be shorter than he remembered.

In a way, it was.  The little town, which once wasn't even on the map, let alone with road signs, now had mile markers.  And as he approached, Keith even saw a sign that said,  _ “Welcome to Aspen Falls.” _

The town looked like he remembered; one long stretch of winding dirt road, lots of trees, and the only buildings visible from the throughway being the motel and the post office.

Keith parked at the motel.  He’d worked a part-time job here as a kid to help pay for some of his living expenses; after what had happened to his foster parents, he hadn't wanted to be a burden on Shiro, who’d taken him under his wing.  So now, he knew exactly how it all worked. He walked into the front office, and nothing had changed from when he’d been here 10 years ago.

Room numbers 1 and 2 were reserved for dangerous wolves.  Reinforced concrete meant that the cabins, while looking exactly the same on the outside, were damn near impenetrable.  The rooms had double front doors, one steel, one wood, and silver bars over the windows.

That was where Lance was going to enjoy his vacation, here in Aspen Falls.  Somewhere safe for both him and for everyone else, while he healed.

Keith grabbed the key for Room 1, with the number stamped on a little keychain.  Motels weren't supposed to put the number on there anymore, but Aspen Falls didn't exactly change much.  Werewolves didn't like change. It bothered them that the world was moving so rapidly around them, leaving them behind.

And, since he could see the motel’s list of emergency numbers next to their corded phone, he dialed up the one for old Mr. Smythe one of the human residents of Aspen Falls

It took about three rings for someone to answer, and in the meantime, Keith could hear the sound of ripping yoga pants inside the van.  He had run out of time.

“Hello?  Romelle? What are you doing calling from work?”

The caller ID must’ve thrown Mr. Smythe off.

“This is Keith Kogane.  Where’s Alfor?”

He made a worried noise.  “Oh. Well, he went out hunting with the pack, and he’s busy showing the newbies around.  You know how June is…”

June 1st was the only day of the year that the Marrok allowed the humans of Aspen Falls to choose to be ritually brutalized in hopes of turning.  The summer solstice was usually more or less near the next full moon, unless Alfor got especially unlucky, like he apparently had this summer. His new wolves had already experienced a full moon, and today would be their first hunt as a pack.

“I understand, but I have the alpha of the Mesilla Valley pack in my van and he’s injured.  This can't just wait until he finishes, someone will need to head down here earlier,” Keith begged.

A snarl and the sound of something big and heavy slamming into the side of the van, rocking the whole thing, made Keith revise his statement.  “I need someone here, now. He needs to get inside Room 1 before he hurts himself or anyone else.”

“I understand.  I’ll be right down.  Stay safe, Keith.”

Lance snarled.

Keith opened the front door of the van, shifting as he went.

His only hope was that some sign of submissiveness would remind the alpha he wasn't a threat until he had someone else here to help calm him down.  It was stupid, and reckless, and probably the dumbest thing Keith had done in years.

Suddenly small and undignified, having to back his head out of his shirt, he startled as the large snarling muzzle of the brown and white wolf loomed overhead.

Keith flopped down, rolling onto his belly with a whine.

Doing this went against everything he had in him.  His instincts said to _ run, _ his head said to  _ run, _ but Keith stayed still and let that massive black nose sniff along his belly, around his neck.  Those jaws opened around his scruff and closed around his neck, gently, not meant to pierce skin.

Lance wasn't going to kill him.

Instead the wolf exhaled in a great breath, laying back down with a pained whine, and Keith rolled to his side, trying to get his heartbeat to calm the fuck back down.  For a minute there, he was sure he was a dead man.

Keith watched Lance’s pained pants, and he tentatively approached, padding over on soft paws.  The wolf let out a warning snarl, a quick snap of his fangs, but didn't protest further.

Keith laid down next to Lance’s head, pressing his back to the wolf’s forehead in a show of rare affection.  Lance was treating him like pack right now, too pained and confused and likely now familiar with his scent after being stuck in a car with him for so long to think otherwise.

That was good.  Lance would be calmer if he thought he had a member of his pack near him.

It didn't take long for the sound of gravel crunching to let Keith know his help had arrived.

He stood up, ignoring Lance’s growl of protest, and hopped out the front seat.  Keith didn't bother with clothes–Mr. Smythe had seen all of him several times before and now wasn't the time to start worrying about modesty.

The human held out some straps, thick material like you’d find in rock climbing kits, meant to hold up to 300 lbs of pressure.  “To keep Lance from biting us on the way inside,” he assured Keith.

It kind of surprised him that Mr. Smythe knew Lance’s name, but it also didn’t–it was basic knowledge of the dominance rankings in the pack.

There was the Marrok, Alfor d’Altea.  Then it was Takashi Shirogane and Allura d’Altea, also of the Marrok pack.  Then it was Lance McClain, of the Mesilla Valley pack. Following him was Leonardo Giocchi, of the Emerald pack in Seattle, James Bay of the Big Apple pack, and Lewis Montgomery of the New Orleans pack.

Keith could keep going.

“How are we going to–” Keith mimed wrapped the strap around Lance’s muzzle.  He didn't want to risk the wolf understanding, although he wasn’t sure there was enough of Lance there to understand in the first place.

“You transform back.  He’s not going to struggle much if he can see you unharmed.  He’s a known worrywart like that, and I bet his wolf is the same. His protective instincts will be satisfied if he can take the brunt of it off of you,” Mr. Smythe grimaced. “But if he tries to hurt me, you have to distract him.  We’ll get him in Room 1 even if we have to have him chase you there.”

Keith absolutely knew his heart would burst if he was chased by a 300 lb alpha werewolf, no matter how fast he was.  “Let's avoid that,” he said, as he shifted back into a coyote for the second time in as many minutes.

Slipping back inside, Lance growled at his return.  The large wolf was struggling to his feet, more aggressive than before.  Keith could smell the iron of his blood and the cold sweat underneath his fur as he gritted through the pain.

Keith rolled over, bearing his belly and throat.  He had just submitted and he didn't want to do it again, but he knew that with the added threat outside, Lance would expect it again from anything approaching him.

Lance calmed down, sniffing him with his big, wet nose, and layed down even as Mr. Smythe opened up the back.  The wolf’s head turned and his jaws snapped at the intruder, even as he collapsed back down on exhausted legs.

Mr. Smythe held out the straps, almost securing Lance’s muzzle, when suddenly the wolf struggled back up on his feet and growled with all of his teeth bared, his body a physical barrier between the human and the coyote shifter.

It was the alpha thing to do–become a barrier between the enemy and someone non-threatening, who was weaker than him.

Keith whined, turning Lance’s attention back on him.  The alpha snarled, too on edge and animal to think about what he was doing, trapping Keith underneath his paw.  Keith growled, nipping at Lance’s paw in terror, hoping to distract him from the man that the wolf had clearly immediately identified as an enemy.

Lance stepped on Keith’s rib cage, pinning him to the floor of the van with ease.

_ Shit, shit, shit, _ Keith thought, his breath coming too fast as he couldn't wiggle enough to bite any of Lance’s paws or even his long puffy tail.  If Lance moved, it would knock the wind out of Keith long enough that the alpha could rip poor Mr. Smythe in half.

Mr. Smythe was talking soothingly, staying completely still.

Werewolves were ambush predators, attracted to movement.  Lance’s eyes tracked every subtle shift of the man’s weight, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl.

“I’m not going to hurt your packmate,” Mr. Smythe said, his voice soft and easy.  “Lance, calm down, you and he are both safe.”

Mr. Smythe raised his hands then, holding both palms out.  A nervous gesture. 

A mistake.

Lance snarled, hunching his back and pressing further down on Keith as he prepared to lunge.  Keith couldn't move, couldn’t let him—Keith yipped as loud as he could in panic, pain lacing through his bark with the weight of the wolf.  There were approximately 75 lbs of pressure shoving him down into the van and it really did hurt, especially as Lance’s weight shifted forward and that number increased.

The sharp noise of pain startled Lance out of his stalking, turning the wolf’s blue eyes back to Keith.  The expression was fierce, terrifyingly so, and Keith knew that, in order to protect Me. Smythe, he was going to have to give chase.

Lance saw him as weak prey, and all of his wriggling had only confirmed that.  The wolf’s eyes were glassy with bloodlust, and Keith could smell his terror palpable in the air.

He wriggled to his feet with every bit of speed he had, taking a sharp bite out of Lance’s ankle as the wolf batted at him, after his new prey.  Keith barely dodged, knowing if that paw came down on him again, he was done for. When he saw the opening under Lance’s legs, he dove out of the van like his tail was on fire.

Lance roared with pain and launched after him, limping and stumbling as he gave chase.

Keith dove inside Room 1 and slid underneath the bed, where Lance could see him, but couldn't reach him.  Normally the wolf could rip up the bed, but this was Room 1. A hurricane probably couldn't rip the bed out from where it was welded and bolted to the ground.

Once the wolf was inside, Mr. Smythe slammed the door behind them both.  Keith could hear the deadbolts slide in place.

Keith panted and whined in fear, hearing the heavy footsteps of the wolf pacing on top of the bed.  Lance snarled, the scent of his blood filling the air.

For all that he was a 300 lb predator who almost had killed Keith just moments earlier, he also was still horribly injured.  He needed to lay back down, to heal, and knowing there was prey inside the room would have him tearing it to shreds to find Keith and kill him.

Mr. Smythe called from outside, “Keith!  The window. You can slide through the bars.  I’ll open it from outside.”

Keith could slide between the silver bars.  They would keep a werewolf in, but not a coyote shifter.  And beyond that, Keith had no aversion to silver; he could slide right through without worry.

Keith waited until Mr. Smythe slid the window open to dart from under the bed, jump up on the iron chair, and wiggle out through the window, the snap of Lance’s jaws following him as he went.

On the other side, he fell to the ground, human and still breathing heavy.

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Mr. Smythe said.  “That was my fault. I wasn't thinking and I risked both our lives.”

Keith shook his head, “N-no, it wasn't your fault.  He was dangerous no matter what.”

“And he is, yet.  I don't want to have him test the strength of our motel any longer than he has to.  You should go find Alfor.”

“Wait—there’s the body of a dead wolf in the trunk.  I-I don't know what you want to do with him, but I can't drive him out there and—”

The sound of Lance’s howl and the rattle of the steel door to Room 1 had the two of them jumping out of their skins.

“You get going.  I’ll move your van to the clinic and load him into the morgue.”

Keith nodded, trading keys with Mr. Smythe.  He found himself saying, unprovoked, “His name was Bandor Peterson.  He was a good kid.”

“I’ll treat him with respect, Keith, but you need to have already been gone,” Mr. Smythe clapped him on the shoulder.

* * *

Keith drove until the road ended, and then shifted.  He could run faster for longer in his coyote form than he ever could as a human.  Humans were long distance, slow pacing hunters who could stalk their running prey for miles upon miles as they walked without stopping, but they weren't built for sprints at top speed.  That's what top predators were made for.

On all fours again for the nth time that day, Keith lunged out into the crisp, cool underbrush of Montana as he ran after the howls of the pack that had once adopted him as their own.

When Keith heard the deep, loud call of his brother, he couldn't help but change course for him.

After all, the man had practically raised him.  Betrayal or not, no matter how mad Keith still was, even a decade later, there was a love there that he couldn't stomp down. Shiro had once been his rock in the storm, and Keith had to accept that the childish part of him would probably always feel that way about him.

Behind him, he heard the footsteps of Allura, the Marrok's daughter.  Shiro's mate.

She had never liked him, and she probably hadn't forgiven him for what happened with Shiro, so she was likely out for his blood.  Which is why when he smelled her creeping closer, intersecting his path, she howled the hunting call, signaling to the other wolves that she had found prey.

It was her mistake.  Shiro's hunting call answered her, and then the rest of the pack.

Now Keith was running towards Shiro, who was running towards him.

It didn't take long for them to collide, Keith outright slamming into Shiro's hide as he whimpered, huddling away from the sound of Allura's active barks.

Shiro recognized him immediately.  The large husky-patterned wolf shielded him with his paws, letting Keith hide underneath the warm fur of his belly.

As Allura bounded into the clearing, he snarled at her, calling for her to back down.

The large, white, blue-eyed wolf rolled over at the snarl with only a second's shocked pause.  If she hadn't, Shiro would've stripped her hide for trying to kill Keith, under the false pretenses he was nothing other than an ordinary coyote.

Now he'd just chew her out a little.

The rest of the pack gathered around, and Alfor himself led them, his smaller, tawny brown and grey spotted coat making him look a little like an overgrown terrier.

The man himself shifted back with the same kind of ease and grace that Keith usually only saw with himself.  But Alfor was so old and powerful that no one questioned him directly, and all anyone knew was just rumors. Apparently the story behind it was that he had some fae blood at one point, and that magic aided him in shifting.

“Keith Kogane.  I see you've returned to us,” He said with a gentle smile. “I assume this isn't a social visit?”

Keith shifted again, tired of the excessive changes.  Standing up, naked in front of a man who'd been like an uncle to him, after being estranged for a decade almost, was very awkward, even for shapeshifters used to the idea.  Shiro kindly stepped in front of him and shielded his front bits from view.

“I brought the alpha of the Mesilla Valley pack with me,” Keith said, “There was an attack and he was severely injured.  He needs medical attention and there wasn't a more dominant wolf in his pack to calm him down.”

“I see.  Shiro, go with Keith back to the cars and drive to the…”

“I left him locked in Room 1,” Keith said, the fact he was referring to the motel went unsaid and mutually understood.

“Room 1, then, and help Lance McClain with his injuries.  I will finish the hunt from here,” Alfor said pleasantly. “And welcome home, Keith.”


	5. 15 Reasons To Never Move Back In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, in case anyone is sensitive, this chapter contains a lot of arguments, gaslighting, and discussion of internalized homophobia. If that bothers you, I'll add a summary in the end notes. I also want to preface that if you're a fan of Shiro as a character, he's not going to shine this chapter.

Sitting in a car with Shiro, who had the mercy of having his own clothes, was horrible.  Keith was wearing Shiro’s spare basketball shorts and a tank top, with a long-sleeved windbreaker, and all of it was falling off of him.  If they had been on proper speaking terms, they would've laughed this off and Keith would kick his feet up on the dashboard, confident that Shiro would fix everything.  But it wasn't like that, so it was silent and awkward, and Keith felt ashamed to be ill-fitting both back into his brother's life and into his brother's clothes. It was even worse because Shiro refused to look at him and Keith wasn't going to be the one to break the ice.

Finally Shiro asked, quiet and gentle in that soothing voice of his, “How's Adam?”

The angry, outraged teenager he thought long dead lept out of his throat and made him shake with fury.  Keith almost punched a hole in the passenger window. “I don't know, how do you think he's doing? I mean he isn't talking to you for a reason.”

“Keith, please,” Shiro sighed, long-suffering, “You know why I made my choice.”

“I don't know,” Keith answered finally, anger still pulsing through his veins.  “I don't talk to every human when I'm out there in  _ human society _ .  We fell out of touch.  Last I saw on Facebook he was dating some neurosurgeon and going on trips to Paris, so I guess he's doing fine without you.”

Shiro's grip on the wheel tightened. “I made the right call.  A human mate would die too quickly, and no wolf would accept a same-gendered mate.”

“Because you can't even admit to yourself that you're  _ gay!” _ Keith snapped, furious.  “It's not wrong to be gay!”

Takashi Shirogane had been living in Japan in the 1760s when he had been turned.  As an older wolf, his opinions on love tended to be as archaic as he was. 

“Keith…” Shiro sighed, “You know I didn't mean that being homosexual was wrong when I told you it was unnatural.  I didn't need a human boyfriend, I needed someone my wolf would accept as a mate. You shouldn't have tried to interfere.”

“You shouldn't have given up on Adam!  You were  _ fiances! _  You had a wedding date picked out and everything!  Your wolf gets snarly once and suddenly you're marrying a woman you've never loved just so your wolf accepts a new mate?!  You weren't going to hurt anyone, you had it under control, and yet  _ you _ panicked.  You don't think you or I  _ or anyone _ could ever have a love with a man as real as a love for a woman, and you told me that to my face before you ran off to get married, with the Marrok's blessing to get his daughter ranked second in the pack instead!  And you  _ left _ me!”

Shiro fell silent, and Keith wanted to scream with frustration.

He had been one step away from being happy when he gave up on it all.  Keith had pushed him towards Adam, a human who had grown up in Aspen Falls, when he noticed his brother needed an equal in his life, and when that friendship started to blossom deeper on both ends, Keith had had to convince Shiro again and again that there wasn't anything wrong with loving his new best friend as more.

It had worked for years. All the way up until they were engaged and happy, nothing had shaken Shiro's tentative new beliefs, even though his wolf hadn't accepted Adam yet.

But that peace had to end, because God forbid Shiro or Keith be fucking happy.  Shiro had lost control of his wolf one moon, too unstable from living on his own and bottling up himself, and his wolf had almost ripped Keith's leg off.  Keith still had a bite scar and claw marks in pale silver down his right and left legs.

In his panic, Shiro had turned to the quick and easy way to calm a wolf – find a mate.

He was married to Allura in less than the two weeks it took for Keith to get out of the hospital.  And he told Keith that the coyote couldn't move back in with him, that he was too dangerous to be caring for a younger brother.

“Adam was family to me.  He was my brother too. And you drove him away and told me that being gay was unnatural, that it could never work for a werewolf.  And then you stranded me with a foster family of humans and told me it was better for me,” Keith snarled, “And so I left Aspen Falls to find my real Father because you couldn't accept either of us.  Not me, and not yourself. I hope you're happy.”

Shiro didn't answer, but Keith could see the anger in his eyes.

The car stayed tense all the way up to the motel.

Mr. Smythe waited for them outside, but Room 1 was looking worse for wear.

“Fuck,” Shiro cursed, “You wasted your breath on yelling at me for bad old blood when you should've told me about whatever the fuck happened to McClain.”

_ ‘You were the one that brought it up!’ _ he wanted to argue, but Keith shut his mouth.  Aspen Falls had always made him feel like a child; always wrong, never doing the right thing, never trusted.  And Shiro was just reminding him of that now, angry as he unlocked the deadbolts and unlatched the door.

Lance snarled, his wolf large and intimidating.  At the sight of Keith, his growling increased in volume, the anger of it shaking the whole wolf.  Even lying down with a badly broken leg, he still looked so furious he could kill.

It was because Keith had played prey for him earlier before escaping his grasp.

Keith took an unconscious step back, holding Shiro's jacket tighter around his borrowed clothes.

Shiro looked between them for a moment, then stepped inside Room 1 and slammed the door shut.  It was dominant wolf business now, and Keith would only make it worse.

Mr. Smythe put a hand on Keith's shoulder.  “Don't take it so hard. Come on, I'll get you some keys and a room, sonny.”

The sound of a painful howl echoed behind them, and Keith nodded, feeling the guilt settle in.  He hated feeling useless. It built up as anger inside him, restlessness, and he had no better options.

“You did the best anyone could've, Keith,” Mr. Smythe was saying.  “You saved Lance's life by bringing him here. And you know Shiro is a damn good doctor for wolves and humans.  No one is blaming you for anything that happened here.”

“I know,” Keith said with gritted teeth.  “I  _ know.” _

* * *

Three hours later, Keith ventured outside of his motel room.  He’d had the idea, sparked by his own growling stomach, to get some food to Lance and Shiro.  He walked down the dirt road, heading towards the convenience store.

A truck rumbled past him, blowing dust up, before turning around and stopping.  Keith didn’t recognize the vehicle, and it wasn’t until he’d caught up with the driver’s side window that he recognized the person driving it, either.

The sandy brown hair and youthful hazel eyes of the driver made him think it was Matt, one of the wolves he’d grown up with, but the smell of rubber and old books on the man told him that this was Samuel Holt.  Except he was a wolf.

“Keith!  It’s great to see you!” Sam waved, leaning out the truck’s window.

The Samuel Holt he had known was an aging veterinarian, a human, with a mostly human family.  But when his daughter was diagnosed with leukemia, Katie had begged to be turned into a wolf, and her brother Matt underwent the ceremony with her.  Luckily both of them lived through some kind of miracle, but Sam had been thoroughly against turning himself and said he’d never try it.

So, Keith was a little stunned to see Sam as a wolf.

“Hi, Dr. Holt, uh, I didn’t recognize you at first.”

The younger looking man showed him a smile with one too many teeth, “Oh, that!  Well, I didn’t have much of a choice. Pidge more or less strong-armed me into it.  Never thought I’d see the day…”

“Me neither, but you look good,” Keith offered.

Sam’s scent soured, but he smiled anyway and sad, “You too, Keith.  What brings you back to Aspen Falls?”

“Trouble, but I think we have it handled,” He shrugged, trying not to think of doors slamming in his face.  “Don’t worry about it. So where are you headed? I was just going for a sandwich.”

“I stayed home from the hunt but I am hungry, so I’m going to do the kind of hunting that civilized people do… grocery shopping!” Sam laughed, and there was that sour scent again, like unwashed socks and sweat.  Whatever Dr. Holt wasn’t saying, it made him really upset.

He didn’t want to be a wolf, did he?

Keith rapped his knuckles on the truck’s door. “If we’re going to the same place, mind if I catch a ride?”

“Oh sure!” Sam smiled.

And so Keith hopped up into the passenger’s seat and took a very calm, very slow drive to the local market.

“So where's Matt and Pidge?” Keith asked, because the silence was more unnerving than talking.  The silence felt like he was prey, trapped in the jaws of the wolf.

“Pidge is in Dallas on business looking into the lone wolves in the lone star state, but Matt's on the hunt right now,” Samuel laughed, “My children are more vicious than I could ever be.”

“... Dr. Holt, it sounds like you're rejecting your wolf,” Keith said, rather hesitantly for his own standards.

“I am.  Alfor knows it, the whole pack does.  Only my children keep denying it. Especially Pidge,” Samuel Holt shook his head, pulling into the parking lot.  “She feels guilty; she was the one who convinced me to Change, but it looks like this will kill me as sure as the cancer would.”

“It's been almost a year and I haven't been able to adapt or control my wolf,” Sam continued, “I can't accept this beast as part of me.  I can't work as a Vet anymore, because I see blood and prey, and the will to heal is lesser than my instinct to kill. I think it was in God's plan all along to have me go.  I've accepted it.”

Shiro, as a doctor, probably struggled with the same battle, but he had been a wolf longer than he'd been a doctor.  He had always known how to balance his urge to kill with his desire to heal, and how to overcome it.

Dr. Holt was right.  If he didn't accept his wolf, then Alfor would have no choice but to kill him.  Keith was surprised he hadn't already; the Marrok wasn't known for being merciful when it came to out of control wolves, but the veterinarian had been a long time friend of the pack.  Alfor would've watched him grow up, get married, have children… it made sense for there to be a little sentiment there.

Keith got out of the passenger's seat.  The grocery store looked much like he remembered.

“Thanks for the ride, Dr. Holt,” he said, checking to make sure he had his wallet.  He did.

“Sure thing, Keith.  It was good to see you one last time,” the old vet waved as he headed towards the produce section. 

Keith vaguely remembered that the man used to be vegan.  He couldn't help but make a face. That was the worst combination he'd ever heard of—Vegan Werewolf.  Still, it was a damn shame.

* * *

The trip to the store didn’t take long thanks to the lift, so before much time had passed, Keith was delivering food to Room 1 as an excuse to check on Lance.  He shifted from foot to foot, the cold sandwiches in his arms growing lukewarm in the mild summer of Montana.

When the door unlocked, it was to Shiro cursing and angry, Lance strapped down with enough silver-studded leather that he looked like some kind of wolf bondage slave.  Keith would've laughed, except Lance's angry growling started up again at the scent of him.

“I brought food,” Keith said, because he didn't know what else to say.

“Dammit Keith, why didn't you set his leg?” Shiro snapped, finishing up his stitches on the raw, now shaved, section of Lance's side that had been ripped open.  There was no intestine showing anymore, no bone, but there was still a puffy, swollen, gaping hole and the layer of skin towards the bottom was so thin that Keith's fingernail could probably scratch through it.

Lance's leg was… twisted weird, probably exacerbated by chasing after Keith so aggressively.  The bone jutted out wrong, and Shiro added, because clearly Keith didn't feel guilty enough, “It's healed wrong, and now I have to re-break it!  What were you even  _ thinking?!” _

Keith choked out, guilt thick in his veins, “I don't know how to set a broken leg.”

“It's not that hard!  You just pull it straight!” Shiro pulled off his gloves, “Isn't Lance's second a medic of some kind?  Why didn't you get treatment from him before driving the entire way up here? In fact, why didn't you call one of us down instead and we could've flown, Keith, and have been there in only a few hours.”

“I-I didn't think–”

“No shit, you didn't think.  You made the wrong call, Keith, and now I'm going to have to hurt someone because of your mistake,” Shiro shook his head, his teeth gritted as he stretched Lance's leg out against his will and, with inhuman strength, snapped it.  Lance howled in agony, and Keith stood, stock still, fear and guilt racing down his back.

“Get out of my way, Keith,” Shiro snapped, taking the sandwiches out of his arms and shoving the shifter towards the door.

Keith numbly left, blinking as he tried to comprehend exactly what had just happened.

He went back into his motel room and tried not to cry, curled up under the bed as a coyote.

* * *

When someone came around knocking on the door hours later, Keith just growled at them from underneath the bed.  He didn't want to move to unlock the door for them.

As soon as they started to speak, he identified the voice: “Keith?  Can we talk?”

He snarled from under the bed, growling out his denial.

“I want to apologize for what I said back there.  I was emotional from our fight and from having to hurt Lance, and I lashed out at you when you were only trying to help,” Shiro said, his voice deceptively gentle.

Keith crawled out from under the bed.  He didn't want to feel this childish, not when he wanted to prove to his brother that he was happy, that he grew up to be better having made the choices he did.  That he was an adult now, and physically, they were almost the same age.

He shifted back into a human and put on his own clothes, which reeked of blood and death and all the body odor that came with a two days long drive cross-country.  He wasn't going to wear the ones he'd borrowed from his brother, even if that meant stinking to high heaven. Then, finally, he opened the door.

“Get inside.  I feel childish with you yelling through my door like I'm still ten or something.”

“At least now you're old enough to legally drive my car if you steal it,” Shiro teased with a small smile.  He looked shocked but pleased, as if knowing that what Keith would've done at 15 wasn't what he was doing now.  As if Keith's adult personality was somehow his causing and worth being proud of.

Keith shut that shit down real fast.  “I'm still pissed.”

“I know.  It's not your fault, you couldn't have known what the right thing to do was.  It wasn't an easy situation,” Shiro sat down in the wicker chair by the tiny desk, sitting in it backwards with his arms across the back of the chair.  “Lance ripped me a new one for criticizing you.”

That information was new.  “Lance shifted back?” Keith asked.

“He found the strength to about three hours after I set his leg.  First thing he did was yell at me. He said,  _ 'Never criticize the gut decisions of a soldier in the field, especially if you weren't there.’ _  He never liked me much,” Shiro said with a sigh, “And it's his job to be protective of you.”

“I'm not pack,” Keith corrected, “I'm not even a werewolf.  I can't be his pack so I'm not his responsibility.”

“No, that's not what I meant.  Alfor asked him to keep an eye on you when you moved into his territory, and Lance said yes.”

Keith's guts turned to ice.  “He  _ what?” _

“You mean a lot to me, Keith, to this whole pack even.  You can't be pack, that's true, but that doesn't mean that we don't love you or want the best for you,” Shiro looked like a kicked puppy, “I asked Alfor, as his son-in-law, if he'd protect you just a little out there in the big wide world.  Because I couldn't do it. And Alfor said he already  _ was.” _

“So, what?  Lance moved next door to me to watch me, like a misbehaving puppy?” 

Keith had always thought Lance had… had moved there for the wide space and open fields, for the easy accommodating space.  That it had been a coincidence, not a planned measure. God, Keith had always joked he was destroying the real estate value of Lance's sprawling mansion with his mobile home but, to know that Lance had essentially been forced to move there–?

That every jokingly antagonistic gesture and every smile was just some kind of… messed up bodyguard duty?

“Keith,” Shiro said patronizingly, “Why are you getting mad about this?  It was a show of care.”

“Get out of my motel room, Shiro,” Keith growled, pulling the door wide open.  “ _ Out! _  I'm an adult, I'm not part of your pack, and I'm tired of being treated like a child.  I'm leaving back home tomorrow morning so  _ good fucking night!” _

_ “Keith,” _ Shiro said, like his big black puppy eyes would change Keith's mind.

“Bye!” Keith said with all the false cheer he could muster, slamming the door closed on Shiro's face.

* * *

Shiro was far from the last visitor Keith had that night.  Alfor stopped in, bringing Keith a change of clothes, thankfully not seeming to belong to anyone at all, another sandwich, and a beer.

“I have news about the body,” Alfor said, once Keith had let him inside.

“His name was Bandor Peterson.  He went by Peter,” Keith said stubbornly, because Peter had been a good kid.  He deserved to be remembered by his name.

“Peter, then,” Alfor acquiesced.  Even though he was the oldest wolf that Keith had ever known, Alfor liked to seem younger and  _ ‘hip’ _ and human, and he balanced the wicker chair on its back legs, in what seemed a casual move but Keith knew was an act to trick him into not seeing how the years had changed him into something almost more wolf than human.

“So what's the news?  Did you figure out what happened?”

“Yes.  Shiro isolated the cause to silver poisoning.  And the syringe in the van, he was able to analyze that too.”

Keith must've made a face when Alfor mentioned his foster brother, because Alfor said, “He really does feel bad for what happened.  He's an old wolf, Keith, and he needs time to adjust to having you be here, an adult man, and not the teenager he loved and doted on.”

“He shows his love and affection in a strange way,” Keith crossed his arms.  “What did he find?”

“The syringe is a cocktail of other drugs.  It contains silver nitrate, which means it does have an effect on werewolves.  Peter was killed from an overdose which sent him into anaphylactic shock.”

“Like with a bee sting?” Keith asked.

“Similarly, yes.  If Peter hadn't already had so much silver in his system, he might have survived the injection.”

Keith lowered his head, frustrated and angry and horribly miserable.  “He had a whole life to look forward to. He had a family who loved him.  He shouldn't have even been turned, let alone killed–!”

“I'm sorry, Keith,” Alfor said, and it sounded genuine.  “We're going to put his body up in the mountains come winter, and leave him for hikers to find when the snow melts down.  That way, his family can have some closure.”

“Thank you,” Keith sighed.  “That's the best we can ask for.”

“But Lance can't remain up here for any longer.  You said his daughter is missing, as well?”

“Safia was taken by one of the people who did this; a human.  I killed his partner at my garage when he went after Peter; Lance said he was a hired gun,” he added, “Lance must be tearing himself up knowing she's missing.”

Keith too felt really, really stupid for worrying about things like Shiro and his weird family history when Saf was still missing.

“He is,” Alfor confirmed. “Shiro's struggling with enforcing a little bedrest on him.”

Keith laughed, “No one could make Lance sit down and shut up when it comes to his family.”  And with that sobering thought, Keith remembered why he wasn't too happy with Lance, either.  “You sent Lance to watch after me.”

“I did,” Alfor agreed, “Keith, in the wild, wolves kill coyotes.  You needed his protection, and I don't regret asking Lance to give it to you.”

“How much of my life did you and Shiro meddle in?!” Keith shook his head.  “I've always been grateful for your pack raising me when my father couldn't.  But I am  _ not  _ one of your wolves, you can't pick and choose how I live my life!”

Alfor frowned at him, and it was incredibly effective in making Keith back down, as it always had been.  “My son-in-law grieved your loss like the loss of a child. Allura couldn't console him after you left us, and even his human ex-lover–”

“Adam,” Keith said.  Alfor almost never treated humans with the same respect as wolves–rarely even said their names.  Keith didn't want to let him pretend that shorter-lived creatures, like humans or pets or anything else, weren't truly alive or important.  It rankled him to the core.

“Even  _ Adam's _ attempts to cheer him up didn't help.  Shiro ran away from the pack for five years, before he returned with a darker look in his eye and a heavy burden on his shoulders.  You were his brother. Give him a chance to repair what he broke between you.”

“I just needed a family back then!  And he abandoned me in the hospital with my leg barely sewn back together after he ripped it apart!” Keith took a deep breath, exhaling it through his nose.  “I'll give him a chance. I miss him too. And we're both fucking adults, we can act like it. I'm just frustrated because he doesn't seem to get why I might still be angry, or why he can't pretend like it never happened.”

Alfor met Keith's eyes, and he looked understanding, even as Keith darted his away, wanting to avoid a fight.  “You have a right to be angry. But don't let it drive the wedge between you two even deeper. And don't take out your anger on Lance.  He couldn't say no to me, you know that, but he has been staunchly in your corner since he met you, and he doesn't tell us nearly as much as Shiro or I would like.”

“He still only moved next to me because you forced him into it.  The whole time I thought we were neighbors, you know… something like friends, and it was only because you told him to spy on me,” Keith sighed. “Even if Lance isn't a total traitor.”

“And he's lucky to have you on his side.  You kept him safe, Keith, and he's thankful for that,” Alfor patted him on the knee.  “Now be gentle to my son-in-law, because tomorrow morning you are driving Lance and him back down to New Mexico.”

“You _knew_ I was going to be the one to drive them back when you came here,” Keith accused.  “That's basically a day and a half of driving with Shiro sitting next to me! Why don't you send Allura?”

“Allura is going to Dallas to skin Prorok alive for me. Someone needs to stop him from creating and selling new wolves, and she's a better diplomat.  _Shiro_ is a doctor and a dominant, and that's what Lance needs right now.  It's the best I can do for you.”

“Ugh,” Keith rubbed the tension headache building in his forehead.  “Fine. But if I see any of you again in less than three years, it'll be too fucking soon.  And you better send me a singing, sparkling Christmas Letter with a gift card inside for all the shit you're putting me through.”

“Rudolph or Santa?” Alfor grinned.

“Rudolph, what do you take me for?” Keith huffed, “The nose better light up, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter summary in case someone needs to skip over it: Shiro and Keith argue in the car over the events that caused Keith to leave Aspen Falls. Shiro lost control of his wolf and tore up Keith's legs, almost killing him. When Keith wakes in the hospital, Shiro tells him he's not capable of raising a little brother any longer, and that he is married to Allura because his previous relationship with Adam was too unnatural, which enrages Keith, who feels betrayed. 
> 
> Shiro goes to take care of Lance, and Keith leaves and runs into Samuel Holt, who is a werewolf and can't control himself very well, and knows that soon he'll be put down for the safety of the pack. When he returns, Shiro and Keith argue more over Lance's condition, where Shiro implies that Keith made the situation worse. 
> 
> At his motel room, Keith is visited by Shiro, who apologizes. Shiro then says that he asked Lance to look over Keith back home. Then, Alfor comes to visit Keith and gives him information on Peter's cause of death. He reassures Keith of Shiro's best intentions, and says that Shiro is heading home with Keith and Lance to keep track of Lance's condition.


	6. Keith is One of the Big Boys, Shiro

It started out fine.  Good even. Keith bundled up in the ill-fitting, nondescript whatever Alfor had scrounged up for him, and he stood outside his borrowed VW Mystery Machine, waiting for Lance and Shiro.

Finally, the two dominant wolves shuffled outside of Room 1, with Lance on crutches.  Keith was surprised he could even walk at all, let alone look so good, so it came out of his mouth before he could catch himself:

“You’re looking hot,” Keith said, and then immediately regretted it, “I mean, you know the saying, _you don’t look so hot?_  I-I meant like, the opposite of that.  You look… hot-- **_GOOD._ **  You look good!”

Lance gave him a shaky smile and a wink.  “Thanks, sweetheart, you look hot too. Nice warm jacket you’ve got on there.  And I feel better too, you know. You heal faster when you've got the motivation--I gotta find Saf.”

“You heal faster when you don't rush in like a moron,” Shiro snapped, shaking his head.  “Which is why I'm here.”

Keith gave Shiro a dirty look as the smile was wiped right off of Lance's face, replaced with a scowl as he repeated, “I need to find my _daughter_.”

“You're not going to have to do it alone,” Keith insisted.

Shiro grabbed his arm and jerked him back, “No, Keith.  This is wolf business and that’s how it should stay. You could get hurt if you stick your nose into this.  Leave this mess to the big boys, okay?”

Keith gave Shiro such a look that he shrank back from the anger he saw reflected in Keith's eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” Keith said with all the practice of being told what to do by werewolves his whole life, and knowing arguing would do nothing. His tone was flippant, but Shiro wasn’t going to challenge him on the lie they both could smell, not when they had just gotten over their last screaming match with one another.

They didn’t have the time to argue, and it was made all the more clear the longer they sat out here and wasted seconds with angry breaths and bitter comments when there was a teenage girl missing and her injured father on crutches outside of the Mystery Machine.

Lance hobbled into the backseat of the van, maybe to give them privacy or space to cool down.  He didn’t buckle his seat belt, instead opting to just lie down, where he could stretch out better and didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing how beat up he still looked.

Shiro looked at Keith and opened his mouth, maybe for some kind of apology, but Keith wasn't having it.  “It's not the time to talk. When this shit is over, we'll find the time to work this out between us.”

“Is that a promise?” Shiro asked weakly.

“A guarantee,” Keith confirmed, “I need you to go tell Alfor we're heading out.  Give me a moment, okay? I can handle Lance, he won't eat me.”

Shiro nodded, understanding Keith's need for space.  He hadn't forgotten that, at least.

So Keith took an extra moment to breathe, before climbing into the front seat.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lance joked from somewhere behind him.

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, his emotions twisting and tumbling together.  “Don't tell me I can't help you find Saf, because if you pull that alpha _I-know-better-than-you_ on me, I'm tossing your ungrateful injured ass right out of this fucking van.”

“Nope,” Lance corrected.  “Shiro's good, but he doesn't know Saf, he doesn't care about her.  I can't trust him like I trust you.”

“You want my help?” Keith startled.

“Was about to beg you not to listen to Shiro when you stepped inside the car.  I _need_ your help.”

“Oh,” Keith said, as Shiro opened the passenger car door and slid inside.

“Alfor sends his best wishes.  Let's stop wasting daylight, boys,” Shiro said, acting cheerfully unaware of the conversation he probably had heard at least a little of.

The drive… was _quiet_.  Keith put on the radio, found some music that didn't make Shiro gag, or Lance whine for mercy, and he turned it up as loud as he could.

As he hummed along to Journey, he pulled over to a Burger King and bought them all a disgusting amount of food.

“Going to a party?” The Drive-Thru's cashier asked cheerfully.

“Yeah, we promised to bring food,” Keith laughed as the unsuspected girl handed over what was likely half the menu's worth of burgers, fries, chicken sandwiches, and onion rings.

Lance made a happy whining noise from the backseat as he devoured his first double cheeseburger with extra ketchup.  Shiro wasn't much more dignified, chewing with his mouth open as they both acted like living vacuum cleaners. Keith just had the one damn chicken sandwich.

Because he couldn't help himself, Keith asked Shiro, “What's so important that Pidge isn't home with her dad?  I mean, Dr. Holt is dying, right?”

Lance made a curious noise.

Shiro scoffed, disapproving, “She's avoiding the situation.  When the opportunity to leave Aspen Falls on a trip came up, she signed up for it, even though that isn't her usual M.O.”

“Normally you couldn't get her to leave her house if you tried,” Keith said, since when Pidge was human, she and he had gotten along.  She'd been too smart for her own good and he had a somewhat eidetic memory—they had been something like friends. And she was human at the time, so he didn’t feel like an outsider with her.

“She feels like she pressured her father into a decision that will kill him.  She should be there for him, because family is more important than anything,” Shiro looked at Keith, as if he had said something important.

Keith couldn't help the “You haven't always thought that yourself when things got rough.  Don't pretend you have some moral superiority,” that slipped out.

“Keith, give it up,” his older brother gave him a look so sharp, it stopped all of their conversations in the dust.

The drive continued in silence through an entire state and Keith's entire punk-rock Spotify playlist.  The tenseness is… not Keith's favorite, but Lance had the good sense to sleep through most of this and Shiro didn't push it.

It was around sunset, as they were starting off after a quick stop for gas, that the tenseness started to alleviate.

“So, I think not everyone here has the same information,” Lance breached the silence.  “I know stuff Keith doesn't, and Shiro knows stuff neither of us do. Why don't we get everyone up to speed then play some awkward road trip games to pass the time?”

Keith couldn't help the tiny smile that crept onto his face.  Lance was a good alpha like that–he knew how to get people to work together.  “Right. That attack, Lance, what happened before I showed up?”

“I'd like to know that too, but why does Keith need to know?” Shiro said, glancing up from where he’d been doing crosswords, like the old man he was inside.

“Because he can make sure my wolf-brain has all the details right,” Lance snapped, his eyes flashing, “He was _there_.  Keith is more capable than you think, don't try to exclude him now.  We're all in the same boat, or in this case, retro-themed Volkswagon.”

Keith felt the protest on his lips die.  Lance hadn't even let him the time to speak before he hopped to his defense.  It made some of the grudge Keith was holding onto crumble away.

Shiro also didn't protest, but his mouth was pulled tight and his eyes lowered into a glower.

“Most of my pack left around midnight.  Peter stayed, and Saf went up to bed. The last to leave were Kinkade and Rolo.  It took less than 30 minutes after that for the doorbell to ring. I thought it was a member of the pack who left something here, their jacket, a hat, you know, happens all the time. Since he was feeling anxious with nothing to do, I sent Peter to answer the door,” Lance recapped.

Keith sucked in a breath, already knowing how this would end and not wanting to hear it.  But he had to hear it. He owed it to Peter to stop the men who did this. He owed it to Safia to find her kidnappers and get her back.  He couldn't be weak or squeamish.

Lance swore in Spanish under his breath, before he continued, “They didn't wait before they shot him. Four times, I heard the tranq go off.  I knew immediately something was off, but they shot me when I came to check. It was a group of 5, and I recognized one of them. Lieutenant James Griffin, from my time in Vietnam.”

“From when you turned?” Keith asked.  Keith knew Lance had served in the Vietnam war.  He also knew Lance had been turned in Vietnam, somehow.  But that was… about it.

Werewolves never liked to talk about the Change.  Either because it was too traumatic or because it would bring up old emotions of anger and resentment, the moment werewolves turned was one of those taboo topics.  That Lance had brought it up himself was a unique opportunity to learn more about it, and the curiosity Keith held about the taboo topic was probably in part the instinctual coyote in him.

“He was turned at the same time as me. Our squad was sent after some warlord, who'd been amassing power in the west and kidnapping soldiers on patrol out from under our noses.  It was a suicide mission.  We infiltrated, but when we got there, it wasn't a warlord, it was just... this one wolf.  A rogue soldier, who got bit somehow and then lost himself.  When he saw us, well... the rest of our squad was killed, but Griffin and I survived somehow.  We hauled each other out of there and the place was bombed so good fucking riddance.  They shipped us both home on medical leave.  I was lucky that my family knew a guy who knew a guy and got me all set up under an alpha before my first moon.  Griffin didn't have the same luck; he got off deployment just to return home to his wife cheating on him with another man.  He lost it and turned right then and there.”

“So he killed them,” Shiro said.  It wasn't a question.

“He did," Lance sighed, "I'm surprised that wasn't it for him, but things were looser back then.  It was easier to hide being a wolf.  Not like now, with all the forensics and the satellites and cameras, and even a little bit of evidence can blow the whole thing open.  That's not the point.  Point is, Griffin turned himself in to the local alpha as soon as he knew there was one, and he gained control of himself fast enough that it wasn't an issue.  Alfor allowed him to register as a lone wolf after a few years, and I haven't heard much of him since. He used to run a mercenary gig a while back, might still do."

"And he showed up with the others?" Shiro asked, brow furrowing. "All of the other wolves were newly Changed, but he's as old as you are, and likely as dominant, too."

"That's right.  It surprised me.  Didn't seem like Griffin.  But it was him that came barging in after the four other guys, all carrying tranqs, and I didn't manage to dodge all of them.  I don't know if he shot me, but before I knew it, the four of them had me unconscious and during some point while I was out, handcuffed in silver.”

“But you weren't handcuffed when I came in,” Keith said.

Lance agreed, “I wasn't.  Whatever the fuck they shot me up with wore off pretty quickly when I heard Saf crying.  One of the humans was dragging her down the stairs. I shifted, broke out of the handcuffs, but he had her out the door before I could pursue.  I don't know where Griffin went during the whole ordeal, but if I had to guess, he left with that man and Saf.  I knew he didn't stay, because if he had been there when the rest of the wolves ganged up on me, four against one, I would either be dead or who knows how much worse.  The only reason I managed against the three remaining wolves was the fact that they were all too new to know how to fight, and even then... well, I held out for as long as I could, but until Keith showed up I was pretty much fucked. That drug might've not kept me asleep but it did keep me fucked up and off balance.”

“So I showed up, stabbed the wolf you were fighting, then went to find Saf,” Keith said, “I recognized the man she was with.  He had been after Peter earlier that night.”

Shiro, who’d been mulling over the story, interrupted by asking, “So wait, some hired guns and a wolf you used to know showed up at your door, and shot immediately? They must’ve been willing to hit you.  If you hadn't been alone, that would've been a surefire way to get the entire pack ripping them apart.”

“Which is why I believe Keith when he says he had a bad feeling about my pack; the intruders must've known I was alone. They probably wanted to subdue me immediately,” Lance agreed, leaning forward even as he hissed with the pressure on his waist. “When Peter opened the door, I don’t think they were expecting him.  They thought it would be me.”

“Alfor said it was anaphylactic shock.  They killed Peter on accident,” Keith resisted the urge to look at the other two, to read their body language.  He was pissed. No one should ever be able to be killed on _accident_.

“Looks to be that way,” Shiro agreed, “I know I talked over the lab results with Alfor, and apparently he relayed some of it to Keith, but I don’t know how much exactly either of you know.  The drug Peter was shot with contained a combination of DMSO, Ketamine, and silver nitrate, maybe some other stuff too trace for us to pick up with our equipment.”

Keith knew… very little about chemistry, even less about drugs, and he only knew what one of those things was.  Silver nitrate was a liquid used in film development back in the day, and yeah, silver being involved with a werewolf drug?  Even if Alfor hadn’t mentioned it to him, Keith would not have been surprised. It was the other stuff he needed explanation on. “Okay, so, ketamine.  What the fuck is…?”

“It started out as an animal tranquilizer, but now it’s mostly a recreational drug,” Lance shrugged, acting relaxed despite the tense atmosphere. “I can attest that it doesn’t work on werewolves.”

The thought of Lance having tried a recreational drug was a weird one.  Werewolves were control freaks; if a substance would make them lose control of themselves, they avoided it like the plague.  Having tried a recreational drug made it sound like, well, Lance being alright with wolfing out and eating some innocent people.  But on the other hand, the thought it having been used on Lance as an animal tranquilizer… yikes.  Keith shook the thought out of his head. “And DMSO?”

Shiro explained, “It’s short for Dimethyl Sulfoxide.  I won’t go into details because I know how useless you were at chemistry, Keith, but it can carry other drugs with it across membranes.  For instance, if you had paid any attention in Chemistry your junior year, I know at the beginning of the semester they used to have Dr. Holt demonstrate it with mint leaves.  A touch of DMSO and suddenly you can taste the mint.”

Keith thumped his head back against the driver's seat, annoyed, "I just don't like how strong mint is!  My nose hurt, so I skipped class.  It's been literally ten years."

"Well, it goes to show how education is relevant, Keith--" Shiro began.

“How hard is that to get?” Lance interrupted, his voice going gruff as he leaned even farther forward.  The tiniest hint of blood had every nose in the car sniffing, and Keith gave Lance a concerned look as he turned his head.

“You’re supposed to be lying down,” Shiro snapped.

The challenging look in Lance’s eye was sharp as his blood's iron-copper scent. “How hard is it for them to make more of this slurry?”

Keith took in a sharp breath. So that’s where Lance was going with this.

“Not hard.  Ketamine's everywhere if you know where to look.  And you can buy silver nitrate on amazon.com for 30 cents a milliliter, or $8 an ounce.  DMSO is the hardest to get, because you’d need it from a pharmacy.  A prescription from a doctor or a veterinarian.  I could get it easily,” Shiro shook his head.

Keith clenched his jaw. “They can make as much of it as they want, then.”

That was an unsettling thought that quieted the whole van.

Shiro put his hand reassuringly on Keith’s thigh.  Warm and broad, but Keith could smell the shift in Shiro’s scent.  Possessive, it said. Keith was just about to ask him to remove it--he didn’t find it comforting in the slightest and he didn’t want to start another fight with his brother over personal space of all damn things--but he heard Lance make a sharp, pained noise behind him first.

“Don’t touch him,” Lance asked in a tiny, sharp snarl from the back seat, before he remembered his current position and tacked on a sharper, _“Please.”_

Shiro’s grip tightened, almost painful, as he growled right back, baring his teeth as he twisted to glare down the alpha.

Keith had no fucking clue what was happening, but that didn’t stop him from knowing he needed to stop these two before something stupid happened to them.  He yanked the wheel sharply, pulling them off to the side of the road with strong enough g-forces to almost make him bang his head on the window.  They kicked up a whole cloud of rocks and dust as they skidded and the brakes stuttered to a stop.

“Shiro!  Out of the car!” Keith demanded, slamming his door open and raising his voice.  “ _Now!_ ”

Shiro got out of the car with a shell-shocked, guilty look, as if he immediately knew what he did wrong.  Good. The fact Keith was having to pull them over for this bullshit when they both should know better was grinding on his last nerve.

Keith snapped. “That man in there is _injured._  You know better than me exactly how bad it is!  So why, god fucking _why_ would you challenge him on his dominance?!  I am his neighbor, he probably sees me as part of his territory, and you’re another dominant wolf!  When he asked you to stop, the right thing to do was just fucking stop!”

“Keith, I shouldn’t have to stop touching my brother because Lance treats you like a mailbox he likes to _piss_ on,” Shiro said quickly, defensively.  “You’re _mine,_ Keith, you’re _my_ brother, and--”

Keith screamed, “I’m _not yours!”_

Huffing, catching his breath, Keith looked his brother in the eye and said, his shoulders slumping, “I am my own man now, Shiro.  I’m not something that just idly belongs to you or to Lance. I know neither of you get that, and I’m _not_ saying Lance is right.  Lance is wrong and I’m gonna twist his balls off when he’s feeling better.  What I am saying is, you knew Lance was injured. He can’t control anything happening to him right now because he can barely walk.  He doesn’t need you pushing the boundaries of what he’s comfortable with just because you want to make a fuss over whoever owns me because, _guess what?_  No one owns me.”

Shiro looked ready to protest, so Keith just continued to steamroller over him.  “Either accept it and _grow up,_ or I’m calling you an Uber and you get to pay for it.”

“I won’t push him on his boundaries.  Keith, you’re… you’re really good at standing up for yourself now, aren’t you?” Shiro sighed, but he smelled honest and Keith was willing to believe him for it. “I just wish it wasn’t my fault you had to grow up to be so defensive.”

Shiro had used to be his protector, his savior in the pack when the other wolves picked on him or bullied him for being different.  Keith used to cower behind his bigger brother, his protector, and let him fight his battles, because Keith couldn’t. He was too small, too weak, too wrong to ever be able to protect himself against fully grown werewolves.  Adults who should have known better than to harass a child.

But Shiro left.  Shiro wasn’t there for him when he was 16 and learning how to drive by stealing his brother’s car, because two days earlier he had sat in the hospital telling Keith that he was too _dangerous_ to have a brother.  Shiro wasn’t there when Keith was 18, living with his dad and his two new kids, his better human kids, and trying to get into college because he couldn’t stand pretending to be someone he wasn’t in front of his biological family.  Or when Keith was 20, and he couldn't afford to eat and go to school, or 22, when Keith's first serious boyfriend tried to pressure him into sex, or 24, when Keith was trying to negotiate the rent so he could afford his garage, or literally ever since then, and Keith had learned the hard way that without Shiro, without Aspen Falls, he got to be his own voice. He was strong enough to stand up for himself.

“We don't have time for this.  You should’ve been more mature than to heckle your own goddamn patient, Shiro,” Keith repeated, “Now either get back in the car or I'll call you an Uber.”

Surprise, surprise, Shiro got back in the passenger’s seat.

Lance opened his mouth, maybe to defend himself, when the anger in Keith turned on him and the driver snapped, “Don't apologize, don't explain, we’re done here.”

Lance didn't say anything.

The drive was blissfully silent for at least an hour.

* * *

Keith was feeling dopey-eyed and yawning on the highway late into the evening when his cellphone rang.

“Shiro, phone,” he asked.  “If it's a telemarketer, please eat them.”

Lance snickered from the backseat.

“It's from someone named Hunk,” Shiro said, and Keith woke the fuck back up.

“Give me the phone,” Keith demanded.  Now that Lance was on the mend and they had Shiro for backup, he was ready to talk to his best friend.  Shiro hesitated, but Lance's warning growl from the backseat had the alpha handing over the phone.

Keith held the phone with his shoulder as he answered, “Hunk?!”

Hunk's sweet voice, a little gravelly, sounded tinny in his ear, “Oh thank God, Keith, are you okay?  Where's Lance?”

“I'm fine,” Lance called from the backseat.  "Hunk, we're in--"

“Don't tell him where we are,” Shiro added.

“Who is that?” Hunk's growled, “What happened, Keith, _tell me--_ ”

God, Keith hated talking on the phone with werewolves.

“My phone call, my private conversation!” He snapped, “No backseat listeners, no remarks from the peanut gallery, we are _not_ on speaker phone!”

Having heard Lance's voice, Hunk sounded a lot happier as he apologized, although a bitter note crept in the longer he spoke:  “My bad, Keith. I was just a little worried. I woke up two days ago to you, Safia, and Lance _missing_ , and my alpha's house wrecked, with _no explanation_ except a cryptic silent message left on _Kinkade's answering machine_ .  So what have _you_ been up to?”

“Nothing much.  Lance and I just decided to go somewhere a little cooler for the week.  Have you ever been to Aspen Falls?” Keith smiled as he hinted towards the truth, glaring at Shiro from the corner of his eye.  Shiro didn’t seem to understand what the nasty look was for, and Keith wasn’t inclined to tell him. He hadn’t forgotten any of his brother’s nasty remarks or his hesitation to cooperate the whole time they had been in the Marrok’s territory.

Hunk joined in on his charade, gaining a probably somewhat offensive country accent, “Ah, no, I ain't ever been.  So did Lance take up any hiking on this trip?”

“Afraid not,” Keith tutted back like a 1950’s housewife, tilting his voice to emulate the act he was putting on.  “Weather was fantastic, it was so nice to get out of the dreadful heat, but Lance didn't feel up to it.  So we're heading back home.”

“Oh, I see…” Hunk made a matching sound. “Ain't that a shame.  So who's your new friend?”

“You would remember Takashi Shirogane,” Keith said. Hunk would recognize the name.

“Oh, Shiro, of course,” Hunk hummed.  He sounded like he was enjoying their little skit.  Keith liked inferring little details in ways that wouldn’t sound weird if the CIA tapped their phone call, and something about joking with Hunk was just extremely normal and comforting to him.  Plus, the way Hunk's voice twanged with his fake accent was going a long way for improving Keith's mood.

“Now that you two are done gossiping, can I talk to my third?” Lance remarked sarcastically, his sarcasm as sweetly toned as his compliments.  Keith hesitated for a second, but—

“ _Please_ let me speak to him,” Hunk begged.

Keith couldn’t say no to his best friend, and Hunk had a right to be worried.  If it made them feel better… well, Lance was in charge now, and Keith had to recognize that.  Even if the thought of Lance’s pack had him unsettled, it was ultimately the alpha’s decision whether or not they were going to get involved and to what degree.

“Fine,” Keith hit the speakerphone button, “Now this is a group conversation.”

“Hunk, we'll be heading over to your house.  It's safer than mine or Keith's, and I don't want everyone to know we're back in town just yet,” Lance said, his voice going honey smooth to calm his packmate.  Keith kept his eyes on the road as he tried to hide how it affected him too.

“Ah, sure, Lance, but what if someone comes looking for you with me?” Hunk worried.

Lance sighed, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, I don’t want you to tell Kinkade or anyone else in the pack.  Keith thinks there might’ve been pack involvement in the attack, and I’m inclined to believe him.”

Keith stared at the road really, really hard as he tried to keep from grinning.  He was not going to act like some fucking schoolgirl over the alpha complimenting him.  But after Shiro dragging him through the mud for believing that exact thing, it felt so good to know that Lance picked the opposite stance.

“Sure thing, boss man,” Hunk agreed. “Keith’s got better gut instincts than most wolves. I’ll see you in a couple days, then?”

“Probably more like 12 hours,” Keith said, eyeing their mile marker.  “I call couch.”

Hunk had a superb couch, comfy as the best of them.  It was bought at an estate sale from some beleaguered couple, and was some weird suede that felt amazingly soft.  It was paisley-patterned and Keith wanted to marry that couch.

“I'm injured!” Lance protested with a whine.

“That's what the bed is for,” Keith shrugged.

“You two are cute,” Hunk said. “I will put Lance in the spare bedroom, Shiro on the couch, and Keith can cuddle with me.”

If Hunk hadn't been straight as a ruler, and in a loving relationship with the sweetest human known to man, that statement probably would've caused Keith to growl at him.  But Keith knew Hunk meant that he could sleep on the foot of his bed, by the fireplace, comfortable as a coyote despite the other occupant in the bed, and honestly it wasn't as good as the couch but he was the only one present whose animal form actually caused him to shrink.

Strangely enough, both Shiro and Lance growled a little for him.  Shiro, Keith more or less expected, but Lance? Lance had no reason to be angry over that.

Whatever, Keith brushed it off.

“See you, Hunk.”

“Drive safe, Keith,” Hunk said, the sweetheart.

* * *

Hunk's house was on the south side of town, adobe with peeling white paint and a flat roof prone to leaks.  The backyard grill had seen better days and the xeriscaped front yard had a slight weed problem. Keith preferred the term zero-scaped, honestly, because the ground cover was nothing but loose gravel and a walkway, with nary a cactus in sight.

Still, Keith liked small homey houses like this.  And Hunk's carried the smell of warmth and cinnamon apples from his preferred Glade plug-ins, and it was immediately comforting after being pent up with two frustrated werewolves for over 15 hours.

Hunk came out to greet them, and muttered, “You took the vampire's van?”

“Keith!  You shouldn't be hanging around vampires!” Shiro groaned.

Keith shrugged them both off, pocketing his keys as Shiro helped Lance out of the backseat.

“I'll fix up the engine and tune up the damn thing for free as an apology.  But Lotor's reasonable and he knows that shit happens. He'll let it go,” Keith looked back at the Mystery Machine.  “Or I'll buy him a new car if he can't deal with a few extra miles on a piece of shit he never drives.”

Keith couldn't exactly afford it, but he was going to have to hope Lotor really didn't care in the end about his bargain Mystery Machine.

“There's a thought,” Lance murmured.  “Vampires.”

The three of them turned to look at the injured alpha.

“The Seethe requires tribute from all other supernatural creatures in their territory, except werewolf packs,” Lance explained to Hunk and Shiro, who had always had the pleasure of being lower ranked inside a pack and not having to deal with the intricate interspecies politics of leadership.  “But that only goes for packs, not lone wolves. In order to invade this territory, the Seethe would have to have received tribute from the attackers. And if we're lucky, they'll know where they are staying too.”

“What makes you think they'll tell us?” Keith crossed his arms as they all trickled into Hunk's living room.  Lance groaned as he settled into the soft paisley couch.

“Lotor likes you, doesn't he?” Lance asked.

“Keith, no vampire should know you well enough to _like_ you—”

“Yeah, I'd say we're friends,” Keith agreed.  Shiro made a frustrated noise.

“Relax, Shirogane,” Lance gave him a look, “Keith takes care of himself.  And Lotor owns the van we’ve been driving in, literally the Mystery Machine from _Scooby Doo;_ that should tell you more than enough about his personality.  He's still a vampire, but you'll see when you meet him. He's not bad.  Rumor on the street is that he runs a little interference to make sure none of the other vampires bother Keith.”

Keith hadn't known that.  Wow, it seemed like everyone had been fucking babying him behind his back.  Not that he complained about less vampires… he could always use less vampires.

Hunk, who had vanished back into his kitchen, returned with a plate of thick cookies, warm straight out of his toaster oven.

“So what's the plan this evening?” He asked, setting down the plate on the coffee table.  Lance sagged a cookie and moaned when the motion stretched his side too far. He made pained noises as he ate it in one bite, before immediately repeating the action.

Keith sat down next to the alpha and handed him a cookie before the alpha could hurt himself again.  When he grabbed one for himself, his first thought was _'Mmmm Snickerdoodle’_ and his second was _'Saf's last meal was his own burnt cookies before she was kidnapped and oh gods, were they even feeding her?’_

“Hunk and I go see the vampires and demand answers,” Shiro stated.

“Absolutely not,” Lance growled.  “Hunk and _Keith_ will.”

“Oh no, I am not going into a vampire Seethe and leaving you here alone with a foreign dominant while you're hurt,” Hunk snapped, “No way, _José_!”

“How about Shiro and me?” Keith offered. “I know Lotor, and Shiro can be backup.”

Lance didn't look like he liked that solution and neither did Shiro, but Hunk nodded and added, “Sounds reasonable to me.”

“Hunk,” Lance said, a slight pleading note.

“Lance, I love ya, buddy, but I think someone needs to stay here with you that you can trust too.  And you and Shiro are butting heads on dominance every other word. I don't trust him alone with you.”

Lance mumbled, “I don't trust him alone with _Keith_ ,” but luckily left it at that.

“Well I wouldn't trust him with either of you, so at the very least, this compromise has Keith's brother with him,” Shiro said, having to add his two worthless cents.

God, Keith was done with being babied. He picked up his keys and shoved them in his back pocket, before running a hand through his greasy hair.   “I'm going out. I need to water my plants and I want to run. I'll be back tonight for the vampire raid; don't kill each other before then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a bit messy and doesn't end where I would want it to, but I couldn't think of a better place to end it. Well, I hope you liked it anyway! You might notice the number of chapters keeps going up. Part of that is because two of the chapters ended up being shorter, and the other part of that is that I think I finished a new chapter... one closer to the end! Alright, thanks for reading!
> 
> I would love it if you dropped me a comment!


	7. That's A $3270 Collection of Porcelain Chefs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late! I am having troubles with the next chapter and I rushed through some of this one, so I'm sorry if its super rough towards the end. I like to take my time with writing, but these scenes have been the hardest.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> TW: LGBT+ slurs are used once in this chapter to describe the conservative mindset.

Keith watered his plants, showered, picked up clean clothes from his trailer, and drove his own car out to his favorite park—the Bosque nature park, on the other side of the Rio Grande from where Hunk lived, but not too far from where Keith lived that it was unmanageable to head there for a quick run.

He drove up, parked, and opened his glove box for what he was looking for.  A tiny dog collar with a bow-tie (for extra cuteness factor) would serve as his disguise, so everyone just thought _‘medium sized mixed breed with maybe some coyote’_ instead of _'definitely a coyote'._

Keith tied it too tight around his own neck, then shifted in his clothes, shrinking down and enjoying the loosening of the collar as he wiggled out of his clothes.  He scratched at his collar with his back legs, realigning it so the bow-tie and the little dangling charm that said _“My name is KOSMO”_ on the front and his cellphone number on the back were dangling in their proper places.

Then, he hopped out of the car and trotted out into the desert paths on padded feet.  For over an hour he chased jack rabbits and tricked a family with two poorly watched kids into playing fetch with him with a couple sticks up and down the river bed, until the urge to run and the frustration sweat out of him.  Keith panted happily as the kids scratched behind his ears and pet him and tugged on his tail until he'd burned off all his energy.

Finally, as the sun started to set, he climbed back up to his car and shifted, quickly when no one was around to see his bare ass wiggle back into his sweatpants.

Keith stretched out his human muscles, the tiredness transferring over, but also the calm animal mindset.

He was going to face the coven tonight.  They would inform Shiro and him of where those fuckers were keeping Safia, and then Keith would rip those fuckers’ throats out with his teeth.  It would work out. No one would get sucked dry or otherwise killed, and no interspecies conflict would arise.

It was that thought that kept him calm and peachy until he drove down the street Hunk's house was on and it was mobbed by cars.

Keith banged his head on the steering wheel.  The wolves must've put a watch on Lance’s house, and he'd driven up next door without even thinking about it.  Knowing Hunk was his best friend, the pack would’ve connected the dots and headed over here to interrogate him, and Hunk couldn't lie to a pack full of lie detecting noses.

He'd fucked up, hadn't he?

Keith parked, stepped outside the car, and then squared his shoulders as he approached the two, completely still werewolves, standing guard outside the front door.

Werewolves generally had no magic of their own, but one unique exception was The Silence.  A spell that, with one wolf at each of the four corners, kept all sound from within, _within._  It was a useful thing, something that helped keep wolves hidden from the public eye.  At the front door, the wolf on guard was standing stock still as she maintained this magic.

This kind of magic only had a few uses, so it wasn’t hard to hazard a guess to which one might be the reason it was up tonight.

As Keith approached, he could tell that the werewolf at the front door was Rivazi, a relatively high ranking lady wolf, and also generally a kind person.  She worked as some kind of school board member or something, since she retired from teaching shortly after the Change. Keith and she usually got along alright, although they never really ever sat down and chatted for the hell of it, either.  Rivazi didn’t even spare him a look as he got to the door.

“Hey, I need inside,” Keith said, because he was gonna try talking first.  Shiro used to say, ‘ _Patience yields focus_ ’ whenever Keith found his aggressive instincts telling him that punching would just be more efficient.  And well, Keith usually wasn’t _wrong_ about that, but it didn’t hurt to be a bigger person.

Not that he was ever going to tell Shiro that he had been right.

“Pack business only, Kogane.  You can't go inside,” Rivazi said as she stayed stock still.  Moving would break the spell. Luckily Keith was not under any restrictions there; if he snuck by her, she would still be stuck or risk breaking The Silence.

“Why did you cast The Silence?” Keith demanded.  It was a long shot, trying to get information out of Rivazi, but he didn’t want to barge inside if someone had lost control of their wolf or if someone was changing because they were injured, and he’d make a worse mess of it.  Especially if something had happened to Lance with his injuries.

Rivazi was losing her patience with Keith.  “Leave, Kogane, you aren't allowed inside. You can't interfere with this fight.”

Fuck, a fight?  Between who? Shiro had been tightly wound up but he would _never_ disobey the Marrok so directly.  So it had to be one of Lance’s pack.  Was it the traitor? Was it a coup d'etat come for Lance? Lance was in no position to defend himself!  Keith’s heart pounded, the memory of Lance’s blood sticky on his fur as a flash of white bone poked out from under the skin coming straight to the forefront of his mind.  Keith hadn’t driven Lance so many hours just to get hurt again, and it didn’t matter that Keith couldn’t feasibly help in a fight between wolves, he was going in there.

Keith just body-checked Rivazi aside, ignoring the guard who couldn't move unless she wanted to break the spell.  Bursting through the front door, he suddenly could hear a litany of growling and breaking furniture. And when he looked up, the first thing he saw was Kinkade full-bodily tossing Hunk across the room, right through the nice paisley couch.

First, a couple of positives: neither of them had wolfed out.  They weren’t here to kill, then. Lance was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Shiro.  If Lance knew what was smart for him, and Keith never could tell when the alpha decided to do the smart thing or something completely moronic instead, then Lance would be fast asleep upstairs, in a healing rest that allowed him to speed up the process.  And Shiro would be with him. They were probably safe together, and while Keith couldn’t pinpoint their exact location yet, as a human, their scent was definitely fresh around the house, and he couldn’t smell their blood--just Hunk’s. So this was a one on one fight.

The downsides: Kinkade had just destroyed that couch, and that was unforgivable.

Hunk roared, grabbing Kinkade by the arm and suplexing him back into the coffee table.  The glass shattered under his weight, and Kinkade stumbled to his feet as fast as he could.  Hunk made to lunge for Lance’s second in command, but Kinkade dodged to the side at the last second and shoved down the bookshelf with Hunk’s prized collection of porcelain chefs.  A cacophonous shattering sound, and a lot of sad broken chefs laid at Keith’s feet.

“Let me see the alpha!” Kinkade snarled as he danced around the sharp wreckage on the floor.

“I’m under orders not to!” Hunk snapped, taking a step forward and ignoring the sharp sound of chefs breaking further under his feet. “Stop breaking my shit!”

“I can smell him here!” Kinkade’s golden eyes shifted around the room, landing on Keith and then swiveling back to Hunk, “I know you and that no-good weasel are up to something!  So move aside, third!”

“Weasel?!” Keith mouthed under his breath. “Who even is the weasel in this situation?”

“ _You are!_  What did you do to him?!” Kinkade roared, his whole body reorienting towards Keith at the entrance.  Snarling, Kinkade launched himself at Keith instead of Hunk. Keith’s vision was filled with enraged werewolf and his instincts said to run, but his back to a door and it happened so fucking fast.  Before he had even taken a step, the wolf had pushed him down and went for his throat, claws ready to rip out his larynx. Hunk had dove in, grabbing Kinkade’s elbow before his nails could touch Keith’s skin, but Kinkade essentially ignored him, moving his other arm so that Keith had barely the time to try to shove him off of himself before the wolf had him pinned down with his superior strength.

He wasn’t getting out of here as a human.  But that didn’t mean he had no other options.

Keith looked Lance’s second in the eye, spat out, “I’m a _coyote!”_ and shifted, squirming out from underneath Kinkade and sprinting towards the stairs, his shirt and pants almost tripping him as he blindly lunged after what his newly coyote nose was telling him.  

Lance and Shiro were upstairs, and he had been right the first time.  Hunk had been preventing Kinkade and anyone else from heading up there by force.  It was likely how the whole fight started out; sweet Hunk trusting him too much to let the pack see Lance while Keith was still suspicious of them, even if it meant disobeying Kinkade’s orders.  Which Hunk technically wasn’t supposed to be able to _do_ , as the third most dominant.  That probably raised Kinkade’s hairs and put a sour taste in his mouth more than he’d like to admit.

Just as Keith was about to bound up the stairs, leaping towards the top step, he found himself scooped out of the air like he was some kind of house-pet.  The only person he thought bold enough to try that on him was Shiro, but the arm around him was dark and too thin to belong to his brother, and the chest he was suddenly tucked up against was shaking just slightly as the owner balanced precariously on one crutch.  The scent of the man confirmed his identity; Keith had accidentally jumped into Lance's arms.

“Calm down, Kinkade,” Lance said, hobbling forward on his crutch.  He looked exhausted, but the timber of his voice was confident as Keith felt it's vibrations against his sensitive ears.  He was so shook by the turn of events that he hadn't even tried to get out of Lance's loose one armed grip. “He wasn’t telling you anything under my orders.”

Kinkade immediately dropped his hands off of Hunk, and Lance’s third did the same with a relieved sigh.  The wolf stood up, his head hanging as he snapped, still irritated, “Alpha! We thought you must have been kidnapped and held against your will.  Your injuries, the scent of a foreign wolf, we--”

“Again, appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary.  Let me explain,” Lance said, still carrying Keith tucked up against his chest as he made his way to the one armchair left standing. “I was injured, but Keith and Hunk were not the responsible party, and since we had very little information on who that might be, and to prevent any upset in the pack, Keith and I decided to make our way to the Marrok, to seek Dr. Takashi Shirogane, for help with my injuries.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he didn’t otherwise struggle or protest.  He was worried that he might fuck up Lance’s balance if he squirmed too much, and despite his irritation at Lance completely overwriting the actual story with his vague bullshit, he didn’t want the alpha to fall on his ass and squash Keith in the process just because he couldn’t wait.  

Plus, he’d dropped all of his clothes when he’d transformed and the thought of being naked in front of this bunch?  Keith would rather act the cute house-pet than have someone like _Rolo_ staring at his dick.

Lance eventually made it to the armchair, the only part of the destroyed living room with minimal wreckage, and took a seat with Keith on his lap. “Some of our hesitation came from the pack itself.  The wolves and humans who did this to me had more information than they should, without being privy to an insider. I think we have a leak in the pack, and both Keith and Dr. Shirogane agree with me.  The knowledge of my daughter is not something I spread around to other circles, yet they knew exactly where to find her. They came prepared for werewolves, killed one of our own, and kidnapped Safia. I ultimately decided I couldn’t trust the pack.”

Keith felt a hand run down his back, smoothing down the rough dark fur he had along his spine,  before it came back up to scritch at his ears. Lance’s voice didn’t waver, but his hand was trembling, and Keith relaxed and let his neighbor find whatever small comfort he could in that touch.

“In fact, that decision still stands.  That’s why Hunk would not let you up to see me, not until I gave him the go-ahead.  Kinkade, you’ve been a loyal part of my pack for years. I trust you see my logic in this,” Lance stared at his second, and Kinkade took about 0.2 seconds to look away in submission.

“I apologize then for my actions, alpha.  Without notice, you vanished. I didn’t know whether or not to act.  When we saw the walker return to his house, we caught scent of Hunk, and traced these connections in attempt to find you.”

“And you did.  But I don't think Hunk appreciates the property damage,” Lance cocked an eyebrow.

“I'll pay for the damages,” Kinkade assured, looking at Hunk, “And I apologize.”

Hunk nodded, crossing his arms.  It seemed like that was going to be that.  Kinkade wasn’t much of a talker, and he and Hunk had other beef now too, with Hunk being able to challenge him on his dominance.  But for now, they both were going to put that aside.

“I assumed you would,” Lance contented himself with a stroke down Keith's back.  Kinkade stood stiffly, but his alpha waved at him, an easy going smile on his lips even though Keith could personally smell a hint of iron and could hear how, when the man closed his lips, he gritted his teeth together to avoid showing any other signs of pain. “Bring in the rest of the pack and sit.  I know some of you don't understand the events of the last few days. There's a reason for my actions.”

True to Lance's word, the rest of the higher ranked members of Lance's pack assembled in Hunk's living room in about 15 minutes.  Hunk had never truly left, but he came out of his bathroom with a yawn and a wave for Keith. His arm and a spot on his cheek were freshly patched up from the earlier fight.  

Kinkade brought Rolo back with him, so apparently he was still babysitting the foreign wolf throughout this mess, and as he re-entered, Kinkade gave Keith an apologetic nod.  Keith cocked an eyebrow. He hadn't forgotten the weasel comment.

Other wolves arrived in sets of one or two, including Rivazi, and another female dominant who worked in the police department that Keith distantly was sort of fond of.  He thought her last name might start with L, but he did know her first name was Ina. She was the kind of person he found himself liking from a distance; spritely and energetic, and had no qualms with showing off to the men in the force that she could beat them all at arm-wrestling.

In total, there were ten of them, including Shiro, who had stayed upstairs until Lance had signaled for them all to come and sit.  Keith gave his brother a weird look, but Shiro just shrugged like a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. With all the chairs taken up and the nice Paisley couch destroyed (and it shall be missed, Keith's butt was already writing a eulogy), Keith felt more desperation than ever to put his clothes back on and shift back.  

He’d wanted to before, but Lance’s nervousness had kept him curled up in his lap, and he knew his neighbor had never been one to sit still and idly wait.  With at least one of his stitches probably torn, Keith had tried to keep providing some comfort to him in the meantime. But now at least, Hunk and Shiro were here for Lance to talk to, hopefully maybe even fix that stitch on his side, and Keith felt increasingly more and more awkward for lingering in another man’s lap like a pet.

He jumped off of Lance's lap, grabbed his clothes in his mouth, and headed over to Hunk's guest bathroom.  After a terrible moment of hopping one leg after another into pants slightly wet with coyote drool, he finally was able to rejoin the group in the living room and be part of the real conversation.  Even though as he tried to find a new place to sit, he found that literally everywhere was taken. Hunk made to stand up, but Keith shook his head slightly, and made to lean up against the wall behind the armchair.

“Let’s get started,” Lance said, his one foot tapping rhythmically on the floor.  He really wasn’t one to sit still, and Keith was glad that even with his serious alpha voice on, his neighbor was still the hyperactive asshole who yelled at him over their backyard fence and played fetch with his daughter as a wolf.

“You don't trust us,” Rolo said, his voice just nasally enough it almost sounded smug.  Keith held back his desire to snarl at him.

“That’s true, I don't.  These foreign wolves knew when the rest of the pack had left.  They knew Peter was not a threat, that I lived alone with my daughter, and they came armed for werewolves.  They should have had no idea I had a daughter, but they did. They went straight up to her room, because they knew which one it was, and they took her as collateral.  They knew when the rest of the pack had left. Someone in my pack is a leak. It might even be someone in this room.”

The collective gasp of muted shock and offensive made Keith smirk, his eyes narrowed.  There was something satisfying about his hunch being reaffirmed again and again, and another small joy in the knowledge of Lance's unwillingness to hold back, even with his pack.  And from his vantage point behind Lance, he was in the perfect place to stare them all down, to look for weaknesses in them.

If one of them smelled nervous, twitched the wrong way, Keith would see it.

“You're right,” Kinkade agreed, running a hand through his locs, “Something about it doesn't add up, and there's more than one person I can think of in this pack that doesn't have the best opinion of you, boss.”

With Lance's own sexuality and his willingness to accept people, it clashed with the conservative opinions of most wolves, and even though no one was too old in Lance's pack, that didn't stop the old ideas from circulating.  That Lance was just a faggot and unfit to be alpha. That Hunk was a weak woman, not fit to be third. Toss in the fact that Lance, Kinkade, and Hunk all were of color, and suddenly with enough incentive, assholes who were partial to that conservative bullcrap were more than likely to find ways to betray the pack.

Lance already knew that, and so did Hunk and Kinkade.  Choosing respect and dignity had been how he’d chosen to lead his pack, and this was the downside to it.  It wouldn’t change, not until more packs across the nation followed Lance’s example.

“It's another reason we can't risk going in blind.  So let's add up what we know,” Lance sighed, his foot still tapping, “A group of wolves and human mercenaries work together in Dallas, buying new wolves and, in Alamogordo, experimenting on them with a drug, one that works on werewolves.  They experiment on Peter for months until he escapes and comes here.”

“Then you take him in,” Keith said, “Maybe they came to your place as a warning?  Stay out of their business or else?”

“No one leaves an alpha warnings like that.  That’s something they might do to you, Keith, but not to me,” Lance shook his head, “And it doesn't explain why they took Safia.  They want something from me, and they know I would do anything for my daughter. But what?”

“Money?” Rivazi asked, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, “You're not exactly a poor man.  They need to fund their experiments somehow, and they were buying new wolves. I don’t expect human trafficking to be cheap.”

“If they wanted money for my daughter, they'd have tried to bargain with me by now.  There's been no attempt at a ransom,” Lance replied. “I hate to say it, but whatever they would ask of me for her, I’d pay, and the rest of you know it If they wanted money, they could have it all. But that’s not it. This drug is cheap, and they can mass-manufacture it. They know it works. I don't think they're doing any more experiments with it.  I think they're going to use it.”

“Then maybe they took her because they don't want you to stop them?  If they want to use it, maybe they took Safia as collateral? You don't stop them, they don't hurt Saf?” Keith suggested, his hand clenched tightly, his stomach curling with the implication that someone might hurt Saf.

“That could be the case.  I think you’re right; they took her to control me,” Lance’s eyes seemed to almost glow blue, sharp like glass.

Hunk spoke up, “Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle.  Instead of why, think about who? Who’d make a drug like that?”

“In order to make the drug,” Shiro said, “you do need a prescription, from a doctor or veterinarian.  It contains a controlled substance.”

A doctor or vet could make it.  A doctor, like Shiro, or a vet like… Keith’s head was spinning around and around, grasping at straws, and that’s the only reason he said what he did: “Dr. Holt?”

Both Lance and Shiro turned to look at him.  Shiro laughed, “Dr. Holt can’t even eat chicken for dinner and you think he’s experimenting on new wolves?”

Keith’s cheeks burned, and he felt so stupid for saying it aloud, but Lance seemed to be considering it.  The alpha turned back to his pack and said quickly, “Holt is one of the Marrok’s, and he’s not able to control his wolf.”

“Exactly, so what if he made it?  To control himself so no one would get hurt!” Keith said, his heart pounding.

“He wouldn’t be involved in the experiments or the rest of it,” Shiro said, “but I can ask Alfor to look into whether or not Dr. Holt had been testing something out like that.  I hate to admit it, but you might be onto something.”

Keith probably couldn’t look more smug if he tried to smirk.

“So someone on the inside of my pack is working with them.  And potentially someone in the Marrok, too,” Lance changed the subject, “And let’s look at what might be motivating that.  The Marrok is a powerful pack, and so is mine. It could be a coup d’etat.”

“Someone who likes the old ways better?” Kinkade pursed his lips.

Ina, who had been quiet the whole time, said, “It gotta be about change.  It’s open rumor here and there between all the packs that the Marrok is going to out us to the humans.”

Keith blinked, mouth falling open.  He hadn’t known that.

“What?” she said, when Lance and Shiro turned to look at her instead. “I work with a forensics department on cases all the time, and science has come so far that it's super easy to, you know, figure out all kinds of stuff that disproves all of those ‘wild bear attack’ stories we used to pull off back in the day.  The Marrok isn’t going to have a choice sooner or later; it’s going to come out no matter how many witches we ask to clean for us.”

Lance’s shoulders dropped, his head leaning back.  “I hadn’t thought about it being a reason to want change.  Alfor is old-fashioned enough as it is. He’s looking for excuses not to do it as we speak.”

“Maybe they want it to happen faster?” Rivazi said, encouraged by Ina’s outspokenness.  They weren’t as high ranking in the pack, and Keith hadn’t realized that had encouraged them just to listen, instead.  But what Ina had said… it was game-changing. It was an angle none of them had thought of.

“And how does the drug work its way into that?” Shiro asked.  “They make sure Lance and Alfor can’t fight back? Who would even replace them?”

“No, just Alfor,” Lance said, his voice filled with a dreadful kind of confidence. Keith heard himself in his own head:

_There was the Marrok, Alfor d’Altea.  Then it was Takashi Shirogane and Allura d’Altea, also of the Marrok pack.  Then it was Lance McClain, of the Mesilla Valley pack._

“That’s why they took Safia and they tried to drug you.  They want you to fight Alfor. You’re the only one who might do it,” Keith realized.  Now that it made sense in his head, he could see it connecting the dots in everyone else’s too.  “No one else is dominant enough to lead the Marrok, and they would never be able to convince Shiro, the son-in-law of the Marrok to kill his wife’s _father._  And once you win the fight, with Saf and the drug, they can control you to do whatever they want.  Whichever kind of change they want or don’t want, with you they can secure it.”

“Then that’s all we need to know,” Lance said, smiling back at him.  “Our biggest priority then is getting Safia back. Without her, their whole plan falls apart.  They can’t and won’t force me to fight Alfor once my daughter is safe.”

The rest of the pack nodded in agreement.  Kinkade said, “So then what?”

Lance grinned, “So then we get the address to those motherfucker’s hideout, and we kill them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next chapter is going to be late again, because I'm struggling so much with the vampires. They really suck, eheheheh~~ Anyway I will do my best to still get it out as soon as possible, but we'll see.


End file.
